At the End of Chaos
by damnyankee
Summary: Warning: Spoilers in this fic...only if you're not in the U.S. Chapter 17 is up! Sorry it took so long!
1. Once again alone

**Title**  At the end of Chaos

**Rating**  PG-13 (just in case)

**Spoilers**  Yes yes…through S11-2

**Summary**  Carter's and Abby's POV's of what happens after Kem leaves and Carter is left alone and depressed and grieving.  

**Author's Note**  I decided to write this after reading reviews of my previous fics, specifically Kate Rosen's of The Dream.  Thank you thank you thank you!!!  I appreciate feedback, especially since, so far, it's been positive. LOL  Anyway, let me know what you think so far, and I'll get Abby's POV written soon, I promise!

CARTER

The ache is the worst part.  It is torture, anguish, torment, agony.  And it never, ever stops.  It dulls, yes, from time to time, when I get caught up in a trauma, or maybe sometimes when I can actually sleep, those restless few minutes every night.  But it does not stop.  It remains there in the back of my brain, like Dr. Green's tumor, something that could maybe be treated, but not cured.

            And this is what comes of hoping.  This is what happens when you wish for something so hard that you can think of nothing else, and then that thing is ripped from your grasp, suddenly and unexpectedly.

            This is what it feels like when your world crashes down around you, leaving you absolutely and utterly breathless.  This is what speechless feels like.  

            But you can't stop living, you can't stop moving, you can't stop going through the motions, because then the pain worsens.  It's like a bad cramp; the only way to really heal it is to stretch out the muscle.  It hurts like hell at first, so much that you don't think you can handle it, but eventually the muscle stops contracting and the pain subsides.  

            This is how I am surviving.  The death of my child, my hope, and the end to my relationship with Kem, is, by far, the worst thing that could have happened to me.  No stabbing, no drug addiction, not even Gamma's death, nothing could compare to this.  And to make things worse, everywhere I look there are reminders of what happened, what I have lost: fathers with babies, so many children and happy families, everywhere.  There is no way to hide from it.  Even at home…well, it isn't home anymore.  It was supposed to be **our** home.  I know I have to move out.  I have to change my setting, because living there I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't stay there for more than 20 minutes without feeling like I will go insane.  

            So I go to work.  I nod when people ask if I am all right, though they and I both know that this is a lie.  Some said I should take some time off, but I've never been good at that.  Work is another addiction for me; one that is acceptable, but still dulls the pain.  I treat patients because I can make them feel better, I can ease **their** symptoms.  Mine I can do nothing about.


	2. I watch him

**Title**  At the End of Chaos

**Rating**  PG-13 (just in case)

**Spoilers**  Yes…up through Ep 2 of season 11

**Summary  **This time it's Abby's POV…post-"One for the Road", soon to be during "Damaged"…

**Author's Note**  Thanks so much for the reviews so far…I'll keep writing!!

ABBY

I watch him a lot, across the ER.  I don't think he notices, and if he does, we never talk about it.  It hasn't been very long since everything happened; less than a month.  I still can't believe that while I was celebrating my graduation, Carter was suffering the worst tragedy of his life.  Here I am, having achieved something I've dreamed about forever, and Carter has been knocked on his ass by life.  

            And we haven't talked about it.  I don't think…I don't think he'd want me to try and figure him out right now.  I think he wants to deal very slowly with the weight of it all, and he knows if I get involved…I read him too well.  I used to, anyway.  I think he's afraid of the scars I might see in there, inside his heart.  

            What he doesn't know or realize is that I already see them.  Forget that I'm a doctor and I just finished a rotation in Psychology.  I know John Carter in a way I've only ever known one other person: myself.  And I see every unshed tear and every distant gaze when I know he's thinking about the son he almost had and the woman who almost gave it to him.  He tries so hard to hide it, and he almost succeeds.  But we all notice the pain he's feeling, and we try not to cause him any more by bringing it up unnecessarily.  And we all worry.  Those of us who have been here, we remember the addicted Carter, and we watch for signs.  Being stabbed was a cakewalk compared to this, so we worry that he'll be driven back down that road.

            And **I** worry the most, because I know where he is right now, and it's not a pretty place.  

            No, I've never lost a child.  Not like this.  Especially not after having gone through everything else that preceded that.  But I know what bottom feels like, and I know that he's lying there right now.  And I also know that when you're at bottom, sometimes making yourself feel worse is like making yourself feel better.  

            So I watch him, all the time.  And I wait.  I wait for the moment that is right for me to step in and be his friend.  Though, the problem is, I'll never just be his friend.  I'll always be Abby, his ex, the one who let him down the last time he was grieving.  I hope that he can forgive that and let me help him now.

            This time I won't walk away, Carter, even if you ask me to.  I promise.      


	3. At work I can forget

**Title**  At the End of Chaos

**Rating**  PG-13…just because

**Spoilers**  YES

**Summary**  Carter is working, and trying not to face his pain

**Disclaimer**  I always forget to do this…I don't own anything, especially not these characters, I just like to play with them from time to time.

CARTER

There aren't many places I've been able to call home over the years.  Sure, when I lived with my parents and Bobby, and then just my parents, that was "home", because that's what you called it.  But since I started med school and then became a doctor, I've just moved around constantly.  Nothing has really felt like home.  That's probably because I spend 75% of my time in the ER, but still…I guess you could call the hospital a home of sorts.  I have a family here, friends, a place to sleep, food, and a purpose.  And since I became a head of the ER, I've felt even more at home here.  

            But since…what happened…I've felt displaced again.  Like even here is not home.  And today I'm feeling that more than ever.  It doesn't help that I see them all look at me like I'm going to break, like at any minute I'm going to pick up a syringe full of Valium and inject it into myself.  

            Not that the thought hasn't occurred to me.  But I figure, since everything else has gone wrong, and probably because of me, I should try to get at least **one** thing right.  And not doing drugs is one thing I can do.  

            That, and treat patients, something that comes as naturally to me now as my own heart beating.

My focus today is on a VA named Skinner who was injured in Iraq, and has been left disfigured.  It has, obviously, made him depressed. 

            "Your mom tells me your engaged," I say as I roll a stool up to the bed.

            "She won't give up," he says, laughing slightly.

            "You're not?"

            "I was.  Her name's Karen."  He pauses, a small, sad smile playing across his face.  "Right before I shipped out, I spent everything I had at Zales and took her to the Olive Garden.  Popped the question over the tiramisu."

            "What happened?"

            "She tried to come and see me at Bethesda—I wouldn't let her.  I knew where that would end up, anyway, saved us both the pain."  He looks up at me, to show that he is certain of his decision.

            "You think she'd give up on you that easy?"  Even as I say this, I wonder about its significance in my **own** life.

            "Karen's a good girl, she's the best--but some things happen that even the best people can't get past."  He pauses, and I consider this statement.  "Maybe in a few years I won't think about her anymore.  Find myself a nice blind girl."

            I don't know how to respond to this.  Right now, in my own life, I can't imagine finding anyone at all.  I've destroyed two relationships in a row, with women I couldn't imagine living without.  Here sits before me a kid who didn't do anything wrong, but he's so scared of what she might think of him now that he can't bring himself to see her.  

            "You never know what life might bring your way," I tell him, hoping that in one way or another this helps.  I walk away, called to the phone.  Jerry tells me it's someone in Africa, and I suddenly can't see straight, I must get to the phone, it **must** be her.

            But it's not.  It's just Alan, calling about the donation I made from the foundation.  The disappointment of not hearing from her is almost too much, I almost have to leave, but then I am called to another patient and once again work saves me.

            The patient I have now is a kid who put his hand through a wall during a fight with a girlfriend because he didn't want her to leave.  All I can think is, 'I know how he feels'.

            "So you guys were fighting?"  I ask as I carefully inspect the wound.  I have an intern in here with me, Howard, who is observing me.

            "Yeah, we were.  She sa—ouch!"  The patient winces as I am looking more closely at the laceration on his hand.  I look up quickly at him.

            "Sorry."  I turn to Howard, explaining to him what I'm doing.  "You have to extend the wound to see it better."  Howard nods nervously, wanting so badly to soak in everything I have to impart to him.  Ah, interns.  So eager.  I turn back to my patient.  "We're going to need to stitch this bad boy up, buddy."

            "I figured," he responds.  And then, continuing his explanation of how he incurred this injury, "I was trying to prove to her how much I love her.  She told me she was leaving, and I got pissed."  I nod at him as I pull out the suture kit.  I sit quietly there as I sew the 8 stitches it takes to close up his hand, not knowing what to say, once again speechless.  When I'm finished I smile at my patient, nod at Howard, and begin to leave.  At the door I turn around, something occurring to me.

            "Did your girlfriend leave?"  

            "I'll find out when I get home, I guess," he responds, nonchalantly.  

            "Huh," I say, and walk out.  Kids.

            I'm approaching the admit desk when I hear an altercation near triage.  There is a small woman yelling at Sam, who is by herself, no on apparently around to help her.  The woman is not calming down, and it seems she might hurt someone soon if she isn't appeased.  I hurry over and intercede on Sam's behalf.

            "Ma'am, can I get you to calm down?"  At the sound of my voice she turns around on her heels and begins yelling at me.

            "I am not a victim!  I am not the problem!  I am part of the solution!"  And suddenly she smacks me on the head.  It is now that security approaches and hauls the abominable woman away while I put my hand to my skull.  Sam looks worriedly at me, asks if I'm all right, but I just nod and walk towards the lounge for coffee.  I hear Luka approach her as I walk away.

            I'm pouring a cup of coffee in the lounge when the door opens and I look up to see Luka walk in.  He approaches me carefully, the same way everyone does lately (except, of course, crazed patients).  I smile briefly, bringing my cup to my lips.

            "Carter, are you feeling all right?"

            "Yeah, Luka, I'm fine," I lie.

            "People have been noticing you seem…tired.  Do you think you should be here?" He puts his hands in his pockets.  I open my mouth to answer, and he stops me, lowering his voice.  "Seriously, Carter.  If you need to go home, everyone will understand."

            I consider this for a moment.  My pride tells me to stay, prove that I'm fine, that I can handle all this.  Everything else, however, tells me to listen to my friend and colleague and take the rest of my shift off.  He really does care, and he's not trying to make me feel bad.  He knows what true loss is, and he understands how I feel.

            "Okay, Luka.  I'll leave.  Maybe get some sleep, whatever that is," I joke.  God, even pretending to be happy is painful.  Luka puts his hand on my arm reassuringly, smiling sympathetically.  

            "Good."  He begins walking towards the door, and speaks to me over his shoulder.  "If you need an extra day or two, just say so."  And then he's gone.

            I dump my coffee in the trash, put my coat in my locker, grab my things, and leave.  

            As I step outside the ER doors, I breathe in the air of Indian summer in Chicago.  Definitely not refreshing, but still better than the recycled air of the hospital.  I look around at the abnormally quiet ambulance bay, and over at the bench I notice something.  It's…a father with a stroller.  He's cooing into it, laughing and clapping at, presumably, the baby inside.  And life has once again kicked me in the stomach.    

            I stare at them for a few moments, bile rising in my throat and tears threatening to break free from their ducts.  I consider my options.  Go home, with this image in my head, to the apartment where I was supposed to be caring for my own child?  No, I don't think so.  Suddenly, I realize exactly what I want to do.  I realize that there is only one way to ease this agony right now.

            I need a drink.  Or five.


	4. As a team, we can help

**TITLE** At the End of Chaos

**RATING** PG-13

**SPOILERS** Through season 11, episode 2

**SUMMARY** Carter has just left the ER, and now we switch back to Abby

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** Thank you thank you thank you for the reviews so far…it does my heart so good that people are reading and enjoying this fic!! I love writing Carby because they are so complex, and if I can get within even ten miles of portraying them, I'm happy!! Keep reviewing; I'll stop if you say so!!

ABBY

Carter left about an hour ago. I assume he went home, though if I were him that is **not** where I would want to be. Too many memories of what should have been…damn, I don't know how someone gets through this. I care for him so much that I…I just want to take it all away from him. If I could just suspend his pain for five minutes, just so he could have a break from it…but I can't. Once again, he's suffering and there's really nothing I can do to help.

I see Luka sitting at the admit desk. He's probably the only one here who has any insight into what happened to Carter. I know Carter better, but Luka knows the pain, and that's why I'm glad they've been able to become friends. If John lets him in, even in the tiniest way, Luka may be able to help ease him through this misfortune.

"Hey," I say quietly as I approach him, my now fellow doctor. I still can't quite get used to that. Despite my concern for Carter, the idea of being a **fellow doctor** gives me butterflies of joy. 

"Hey," he responds, looking up at me from the chart in his hands. We've been fairly quiet in here today, so we have a few moments just to talk. Thankfully, that's why Carter was able to leave. I smile at him, leaning my back against the desk. He smiles back, and for a moment we aren't sure what to say. When did we get like this? Why don't we ever know what to say to each other? And, of course, when he does speak, it's on one of the only two issues we ever talk about: a patient. "How's that patient of yours? The little girl?"

"She's good. We, uh…we're trying to figure out exactly how to deal with that. She's scared, of course. She thinks her family wouldn't want her. I'm hoping I can convince her otherwise." And then it's silent again. After a moment, I switch to our other topic. "So, you sent Carter home?"

"I suggested it," He responds, nodding, looking up at me. "He was smacked by a patient, and he'd been dragging around here all day. I'd had several people comment on it, so I thought maybe it would be a good idea. I think…you know Carter. He wants everything to be okay, so he works." He clears his throat, looking down at his chart. "I know…I know how that feels, to need for it to go away, to avoid it." I touch his arm, so he knows I understand. "He's just going to need to give himself time." He looks back up at me then, and I think for the first time in months, we're really communicating. We're a team in this, and I like knowing that, maybe, between the two of us, we can pull Carter through it.

Just then a trauma comes in, and Luka and I are called to help. These are two young men, apparently lovers, beaten for being openly affectionate towards each other in the park. There is a third man with them, a friend, who is doubled over with concern for his friends. I hear something about the two injured men allowing him to understand that he was gay, but I am given the more serious of the two patients and have to focus on that.

"Time of death, 15:42," I say, having lost my patient. I leave the room, walking towards admit, noticing that Luka has stabilized his patient and is preparing to send him up to surgery with Corday. I am thankful that one of them survived, but I know the excruciating pain that the survivor will feel when he realizes his lover has died. That, I think, is one of the harder parts of the job. People die, and that's a part of life, but those who are left behind have so much pain to experience, and they don't even know how bad it's going to get when they leave here. And that's a wound we can do nothing about.

As I approach admit on my way to the lounge—I'm due for a coffee, if not an actual break—I notice Carter walking through. Strange, because I thought he'd gone home for the day. He seems like he's got a mission, and he seems…drunk? He's not stumbling, exactly, but he certainly doesn't look completely sober. He's oblivious to everything around him, and he enters the room of a patient he had earlier. I think it was a soldier back from Iraq, having been disfigured by an injury while in service. 

I forget my intent to get coffee, and watch from admit through the door of the exam room while Carter talks to the patient, who appears to be accompanied by his mother. Carter looks intense, and the patient and mother look concerned. I hear someone walk up next to me, and when I look over I notice that it's Luka. He sees what I see, and wonders aloud about it.

"How long has he been in there?"

"Not long. Probably only five minutes." I pause. "I think he may be drunk." I sense Luka nod at this. As we watch, Carter hands the patient his cell phone, and is becoming more and more exuberant in his gesticulations. Luka and I both begin to move towards the room at the same time, sensing that the patient's mother's concern is heightening, and perhaps Carter is pushing the limits of concern for his patient. "Do you even know what happened with that patient earlier?" I say under my breath to Luka as we approach the room. 

"No, I don't," he responds, opening the door. We are both smiling politely as we enter, not wanting to alert anyone in the room or out about the situation. Carter looks over at us, a slightly wild, passionate look in his eyes, becoming silent. I stop just inside the door, my arms crossed over my chest, while Luka moves closer to Carter. "Carter, can I talk to you?" Carter looks confused by this question, taking a moment for it to register. Luka takes one step closer to him, puts a hand firmly on his shoulder. "Now, Carter?" John still doesn't move at this request, and the two witnesses to this charade—the patient and his mother—are worriedly glancing at each other and back at Carter. Luka begins trying to gently but firmly move Carter away from the patient and out of the room, which is not having a calming effect on him. 

"He heard you, Luka," I say quietly, but also firmly, taking a small step forward. Luka was never all that good at these situations; he doesn't understand the complexity of an addict. Carter is becoming somewhat panicky; whatever his intentions were in this room with this patient, he hasn't completed his task. He turns back to the patient.

"Please, call Karen again, you won't regret it," he pleads, a tear making its way down his cheek. And then, Luka leads him out and towards the lounge. I linger for a moment, assuring the patients that Dr. Carter is fine, he just feels very passionately about his patients getting the best possible care and attention. I make sure to get his cell phone back from them. Later, he may not even remember that this is where he left it. This may also be an excuse for me to talk to him, maybe coax him into going to a meeting.

When I leave the exam room, Carter and Luka are gone; probably to the lounge, so that they can talk. Hopefully Carter will open up a little, let Luka in. 

Because I'm scared for him. Really scared. 


	5. The Demons We Keep

**TITLE** At the End of Chaos

**RATING** PG-13

**SUMMARY** Carter has just shown up at the ER drunk, had a situation with a patient, and is now sequestered with Luka in the lounge.

**SPOILERS** YES…through 11-2

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** Thanks for the reviews so far…y'all are so kind…and I'm sorry it's taken me a few days to update, but I've had some issues going on in my life and I just didn't feel I could do this justice. But I'm back!!

CARTER

I don't know what I was thinking. But, I guess, since I'm drunk, I wasn't really thinking. That's the point, right? I just had to make him see, I had to make him understand what he was giving up by letting her go. He had to realize that he would always regret it…but trying to express that while drunk wasn't the best choice.

So here I am, sitting on the couch in the lounge, a cup of coffee in my hands. Luka is looking at me from the table , waiting for me to speak. At first I can't because I don't even know what words to use. And then I realize that it doesn't matter, because Luka knows that. He knows how I'm feeling without my even speaking. After a few minutes the words just start to flow.

"It was like I was testing myself," I begin, raising my cup of coffee to show that I am referring to the alcohol. "I thought, 'if I can resist this'…but obviously, I couldn't." I am quiet for a moment, thinking where to start in this saga of pain that is my life. "I can't sleep anymore. I thought I'd had insomnia before, but this is worse. It's like I'm always asleep in one way, but I can't get any actual rest." I take a sip of coffee. The ironic thing about all the things I've suffered lately is that it makes the coffee we serve in here better. The bitter staleness of the java seems appropriate for the way I constantly feel now. "I miss them." A pause, while I take a long breath. "I miss her, I miss the baby. I miss all the things I thought we could have." I feel the shudder run through my body that comes just before the tears. "I'm not sure how to get any of it back." I finally look up at Luka then, and he is just watching patiently. After all the empty platitudes that have been offered to me in the last few weeks, this is exactly what I have needed. I know that others have good intentions, they really do just want to help, but they can't understand that all that means nothing. Sometimes doing nothing means more than doing something.

I have nothing more to say. Luka has listened to my deepest pain, and that's all I can ask of anyone, but there's nothing more I can say for now. We nod quietly at each other, and I stand to leave. As I pass him he stands as well, and puts his hand on my shoulder. I put my head down, trying to stem the flow of tears I know is coming again. Isn't it funny how such muted comfort can provoke such a response?

I leave the lounge, Luka following slowly behind. I look up to see Abby standing in the admit area, trying to not make it obvious that she has been waiting for us. Doesn't she know I can always see through that with her?

When she sees me she walks toward me tentatively, arms crossed in front of her. I put my hands in my pockets, awaiting whatever she wants to say to me. She holds something out to me, and I realize it's the cell phone I left behind with Skinner. I take it from her and offer her a smile in return as thanks. She looks down at the ground, shuffling one foot along the floor, and I wait for her to speak.

"Would you…like me to go to a meeting with you?" She says, looking back up at me.

"Thanks, but I don't need it. I just slipped." I smile again, this time so she knows that I am okay, because I know that she worries. She has every right to, but I really do believe that this was more a slip than a relapse. I have to say, though, the smart-ass part of me wants to respond by telling her that you're not supposed to go to meetings drunk.

"Are you still in touch with your sponsor?" Ah, this is all too familiar territory. Only, the odd thing is, this normally goes the other way around.

"Yes, Abby. I'm fine," I tell her, gently asking her to back off. "Listen, all the crap I used to give you…Talk about a hypocrite, huh?" I tell her this as a means of making amends between us, and also as a way of letting her know that there is nothing further on this issue for us to discuss.

"No sweat. We're all hypocrites," she replies, recognizing the end of our conversation and turning to leave with a smile that reassures me that she really does understand this whole thing. I don't expect hard feelings from a woman who knows me in a way that no one else ever really has. At times I have thought she knows me even better than I know myself.

As I watch Abby walk away, off to be a doctor…wow. It strikes me just then that she really has accomplished her dream. And that I hadn't realized until now how much can change in such a short time. It seems like yesterday that I was about to propose to her and she was telling me that she didn't believe people change. Can she really still believe that? She seems to have gotten her life together in a way that I don't think she even ever conceived that she would. I'm so proud of her, it almost takes my breath away. I wish I could express that to her somehow. It seems inappropriate right now, though, considering the circumstances.

While I ponder all of these things, lost in a daze, Luka walks up to me. He smiles briefly at me, and I realize it is because he notices the small smile that has made its way onto my own face. Huh. I think that's the first time I have smiled in such a natural way since it happened.

"Do you need a ride home, Carter? I'm off in ten minutes."

"Ah, no, Luka, that's all right. Thanks. I took the train." I pat him on the arm, and make my way out of the ER. I have no idea where I'll go, but I'm sure this time it won't be to a bar. I must learn to face the demons that abide in my home, and I think, right now, I feel a little more ready to do so.


	6. Some Other Day

**TITLE**  At the End of Chaos

**RATING**  PG-13

**SUMMARY**  Carter is beginning to heal from his agony, and Abby is attempting to be there for him.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**  Thank you for reviewing!  I appreciate it so much!  Please keep doing it!!   And as a consolation for making you wait so long…here's an extra-long chapter.

ABBY

Two weeks have passed since Carter came into the hospital drunk, and we've been carefully avoiding the topic between us.  I know what an awkward situation it is, considering our history, but I was hoping that wouldn't matter.  I want to help him, and I want him to let me do so.  Unfortunately, he hasn't been particularly willing.  Not that he's been pushing me away; on the contrary, it seems Luka and I are the only ones he really talks to.  Luka more than me, of course. 

            I think he's getting better.  Very slowly, obviously, but he's definitely improving.  I see the more frequent moments of ease during his days here. 

            But I know that she hasn't called him, and I know that that hurts him.  The thing is, I think I understand.  Losing a child like that, after loving it and imagining it's future--with someone you haven't been with very long--must be unimaginably difficult.  Again, though, we haven't talked about it.

            Today we are working the same shift, which I always like because it means I can keep an eye on him.  It would drive him crazy that I do that, but I can't help myself.  I can't fix his pain, but I can make sure that he's doing all right from a distance, and step in if he needs me. 

            It seems odd to me that after so long, and after what happened between us, that I feel like I have something to make up for.  I know and understand that I really didn't do anything wrong by choosing Eric over John that night, but I know that he doesn't necessarily feel that way.  And I also know that my life has changed and improved since our relationship ended, and his has gotten considerably worse.  He left because he had lost his grandmother, and ended up losing another whole family.  Somehow, that makes me feel somewhat guilty.

            Somewhat.

            See, I've learned some things over the last year.  I used to spend so much of my time focusing on the crap in my life, the things that could hold me back from what I really wanted.  And what I realized is that the only thing truly holding me back was fear.  In essence, I was holding myself back.  Once I saw that, I knew I could change it, and what made me see that was John.  His letter hurt me more than I could express, but it was like a shock to my system.  You do the same thing over and over your entire life, and something has to happen to push you out of your own inertia.  And his letter did that for me.

            What does all this have to do with Carter's current pain?  My own experience taught me that sometimes you have to go through incredible pain in order to change and grow.  Or maybe I'm just trying to find a positive aspect to watching him go through all this. 

Huh.  Abby Lockhart, trying to look for the positive?  Who knew?

            So I look for moments of stress during his day, and attempt to relieve him of it.  Like I said, it seems that he's getting better, so he needs that relief less and less.  But today I notice that he seems more ragged than he's been the last few days, and after he's forced by timing to take a trauma involving a child, he disappears.  I curse myself for having been too busy to take it first.  I know that that's how this place works, but I've been so on top of it lately.  And now I don't know where he's gone.

            "Frank, have you seen Carter?" I ask, approaching the large man with a donut in his hand.  I give him a reproachful look; he knows full well he shouldn't be eating that.

            "No, I hav—what?" he says, noticing my eyes.  I nod my head toward the sugary pastry, and he shrugs his shoulders.  "Doc knows I have a treat now and again."  I roll my eyes.

            "Fine, Frank, but if I see you eating another one anytime in the next week, I'm going to call your doctor and tell him."  He shrugs in reply again, and I walk away to find Carter.  I ask around, but the closest I can approximate is that he's not in the ER.  I don't think he would have left the hospital altogether, seeing as how it's been pretty busy today and we seem to be short a doctor or two, so I take a guess at where he'll be and head across the street for two coffees.  Fortunately for both of us, the steady stream of patients has ebbed a little, and we can take this much-needed break.

I exit the elevator, careful not to spill the hot coffee on myself.  I'm always a lot more careful now than I was when I just wore scrubs; I hate getting my doctor's coat dirty.  It's silly, I know, but wearing this makes me so proud, and I don't want to lessen that just yet.  I love the clean, crisp, whiteness of it. 

            I glance up to see that years of knowing John Carter has landed me in the right spot.  He's standing looking out over the city, his arms crossed in front of him.  I stop for a second, just to watch him, noticing that he hasn't heard the elevator, clearly wrapped up in his thoughts.  And I also observe an odor in the air and smoke emanating from his side: he's smoking.  I don't judge him for this, but I almost laugh at the irony of this moment.  The last time we were up here together, I was the one smoking, the one with the problems.

            And he had asked me to marry him.

            This abrupt realization almost causes me to drop the coffee and gasp aloud, but I manage to catch myself.  I shake the thought away and continue forward, stopping just next to him.

            "Abby Lockhart makes an appearance," he announces, making me smile in surprise.  He glances over at me, smirking slightly himself.  We smile at each other for a moment, sharing in the memory.  It makes us both blush, and he looks away.  He takes a drag from his cigarette, then realizes what he's doing.  Blowing out the smoke, he answers an unasked question.  "It's the only addiction that I'm allowed to touch."

            "That, and this," I respond, handing him his coffee.

            "Ah, yes," he says.  Then quietly, catching my eyes, "Thank you."  He stubs out his cigarette, which he has only half smoked.

            "Don't stop on my account," I tell him, taking a sip of my still-hot coffee.

            "I only wanted half," he replies, looking pointedly at me, a smile playing on his lips.

            "Oh, I get it; this is the part where we rehash old conversations and switch roles."  I tap him lightly with my elbow and look away, over the city.  The sun is setting, and I can feel the beginnings of a chill in the air.  Indian summer is fading and soon we will be battling snow and ice once again.

            "Well, I thought it would be better than talking about my depressing life," he says, then seems to catch himself.  He didn't intend to be that frank with me.  The key now is to find the right approach to keep him talking.

I become conscious suddenly that this must be like what he used to have to go through with me all that time.  The thought makes me look at him, and we lock eyes for another moment.  I know that I'm looking at him strangely, and he starts to make that face, that "what is Abby thinking right now" face.  God, I've missed that face. 

"What?" he asks me finally, cocking his head to one side.  I ponder this for a moment, not sure exactly what would best explain why I'm looking at him like this.  There are so many words that haven't passed between us, and I don't want to open a can of worms he can't handle right now.  And yet, if this is going to work, this friendship of ours, there are things I should say.

"You know how you apologized for the crap you gave me about drinking?"  He nods in reply, the smile falling from his face, realizing that this is no longer the joking exchange it was before.  "I'm sorry for always pushing you away.  You tried so hard just to reach out to me, and I constantly shut you out.  That wasn't fair of me."  He looks at me for a moment, then turns his head away.  Drinking his coffee, he seems to deeply consider what I've just said. I wonder briefly if it was too much right now, if this will force him back into his shell.  But I can't take it back now, so all I can do is wait for his response.

            It seems like hours pass before he turns back to me.  I alternate between drinking my coffee and watching him.  He takes a deep breath and slowly moves his head back in my direction, finally settling his eyes on mine.  He sets his coffee down, putting his hands in his pockets.  Then, another deep breath before he speaks.

            "Abby, nothing we ever did to each other was fair.  I know that we haven't talked about it, but the fact of the matter is that we're both to blame for what happened between us.  It was all bad timing, all the time."  He chuckles slightly at his own redundancy, and I can't help at mirroring him.  He scuffs his foot on the cement, glancing down.  When he looks back up, he is serious again, and so am I.  "Look, Abby, there are so many things I haven't told you.  Things I should.  But not today, okay?  Today I wouldn't be able to say it right and I don't want to do it wrong.  I've done enough to hurt people—especially you—and I want to get it right.  Some other day."  He sighs again and looks away, and I realize that this is all he is going to say to me.  I put my hand on his arm, and he glances back at me once more.

            "It's okay, John," I say quietly.  He nods slightly at me.  My pager goes off just then; as usual, perfect timing.  I glimpse at it, acknowledge that it is, of course, the ER, and look back up at Carter.  He nods again, and I give him a small smile.  I lower my head before walking away, leaving him behind me to brood over whatever is truly on his mind. 

            Later when he returns to the ER, we acknowledge each other with a nod and a smile.  The smile doesn't leave my face for a few more minutes as the awareness of what has happened today really strikes me.

            I got my friend back. 


	7. Progress

**TITLE**  At the End of Chaos

**RATING**  PG-13

**SUMMARY**  Carter and Abby are slowly becoming closer, but I put emphasis on the slowly…I'm trying to make this as realistic as possible.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**  Nothing much else to say; I so appreciate the feedback y'all are giving me, and I just hope it keeps on comin'!! 

**DISCLAIMER**  Oh, come on; I'm so broke, I've taken to eating pb and j every day…do you honestly think someone who does that could possibly own anything as cool as Carter and Abby?

CARTER

            It's funny how the roof gives you perspective on things.  Perhaps that's why important moments have a tendency to happen up here.  It's not as monumental a shift in perspective as going to Africa provided, but it's certainly more readily available.  Looking out on this city--Chicago--a place I have observed for so many years, I see the people out there struggling just to get by standing next to the people who glide peacefully through life without strain.  I see the streets I have walked, driven, and watched so many times, either by myself or with any of a number of different people.  And whether during the day or at night, I see that, inevitably, things change, wounds heal, and I finally understand that I will be okay.

            I stand up here today, the face of Thanksgiving leering at me, not two months after standing up here with Abby last.  It is not lost on me that our relationship shifted that day, though I can't quite pinpoint how.  Maybe it's just that we began to melt those icecaps that were looming behind us, those scenes that had transpired between us that we'd never addressed.  It's not an easy thing and we haven't attempted it since, but some matters are best left to the slow and steady pace, and I think our reconciliation is one of them.  Abby seems content with where we are right now, and though I am healing, I'm not sure how much effort I can put into that at the moment.

            The straw I'm chewing does little to stem the urge I have for nicotine, but I'm determined to let go of that addiction before it goes on too long.  It was a decent anti-depressant for a while, but it's been long enough since the baby died and Kem left, and it's time to put those desires to rest.  My therapist would say that this is an auspicious sign, but I think it took me far too long to make the decision, considering that I'm a doctor and I should just plain know better.

            Yes, I've been seeing a therapist.  It's something I never thought I'd do, but though Luka was great at listening to the thoughts streaming through my mind, he couldn't tell me how to deal with them in a healthy way.  Not in the way a counselor could, anyway. 

            Partially, it was Abby who made me do it.  Not that she ever said it, but I watched her as the doctor she has become, and I knew that it must have taken huge amounts of courage for her to get beyond her fear and finally finish med school.  And I knew that if she could do that, then I could put aside my pride and talk to a professional about the tragedy I was facing.  Though I'm loath to admit it, it **has** helped, a great deal.  Dr. Thatcher specializes in grief counseling, and thanks to him I have dealt with Gamma's death as well as beginning to deal with the baby and Kem leaving me. 

            The scary thing about therapy, however, is that it forces you to face things about yourself that you never would if you didn't have to.  One of the things I've learned is that maybe I wasn't as in love with Kem as I thought.    I had run away from everything in my life, felt abandoned by both Gamma and Abby, and here was a woman willing to love me with all her heart without complications.  How could I not love that?  Then, of course, she got pregnant, and I think, to me, at the time, that meant that we were supposed to be together. 

            Because of that, I think I'm grateful to her.  She saw the truth when I couldn't, and left.  If she hadn't, we might still be together, and I would probably not be working through the pain of everything that took place in the last year and a half. 

            So here I am, pondering all this, with a smile on my face.  When you experience tragedy in abundance, you measure progress in the number of real smiles that cross your face.  Generally, those smiles come when you are alone, because you show everyone else the fake ones, the ones that lie.  And lately, more of the real ones have popped up, and more often when I'm around other people.

            Especially Abby.

            One of the other things I've learned about myself through counseling is that I may not be entirely over her.  It was so easy being with Kem, there were never any complications.  But I'm coming to realize that that's probably because she never **got** me.  She never knew when I was full of shit.  I don't think she even knew how I liked my coffee.  She was wonderful to me, so affectionate and open, but we didn't know each other. 

            With Abby, everything was complicated.  We both have so many insecurities, we're so scared of hurting and being hurt.  And she can be such a pain in the ass.  But at the end of the day, despite all of the crap we waded through, I just love her.  She knows me inside and out, without really trying.  She tells me what I need to hear, not what I want to hear, without my even knowing it. 

            I think what scares me the most now is that I may not have anything left to give her.  She has accomplished so much in the year that she hasn't been with me that I wonder if I held her back from her true desires. 

            Hell, I don't know if she'd even want to be with me again.  All we ever seemed to do sometimes was hurt each other; who would want to go through that again?

            Well, I would.  I realize this with a start, also realizing I have been thinking about it subconsciously for weeks.  I wonder if Dr. Thatcher has noticed it, too?  I wonder what he'd think about it?  I have an appointment with him tomorrow; I'll have to bring it up.

            Maybe this not smoking thing is more auspicious than I gave it credit for. 


	8. Heart Twinges

**TITLE**  At the End of Chaos

**RATING**  PG-13

**SUMMARY**  It's Thanksgiving, and we find that "family" can mean many things.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**  Aww, you guys…your reviews really make crappy days so much better.  I'm really enjoying writing this fic, taking my time with it, and the more you review, the more fun I'm having.  So keep it up, and so will I!  And this chapter managed to be VERY long, so enjoy it!

ABBY

Thanksgiving: holiday from Hell.  Or wait, should that be **former** holiday from Hell?  It always was my least favorite holiday, for any of a number of reasons, but it seems that this year, none of those reasons exist.  In general, my life is just better, and I'm feeling like celebrating that. 

            Perhaps it's my newfound joie de vivre that has prompted me to take a leap of faith and invite my (formerly?) crazy family to Chicago for Turkey Day.  Whatever it is, I haven't felt anxious—until today.  Not that I'm too worried about anything upsetting happening—I mean, at this point, I think I could handle it if it did—but there is a part of me that enjoys the bubble of happiness that has become my life and wonders what might happen to burst it.  People can change, they can grow and gain new perspective on life, but there are old habits that linger, and mine is a sarcastic pessimism that I'm **this close** to letting go of.  I mean, come on; if I'm not Abby the dryly sarcastic fatalist at least some of the time, who am I?

            So today is Wednesday, and I'm working the second half of an 18-hour shift, doled out to me by Kerry when I requested to have tomorrow off.  This may be contributing to my anxiety, as I haven't really slept in 16 hours.  I'm desperately hoping we slow down enough for me to go to sleep in the on-call room, but I also understand I'm not necessarily the number one candidate for such a luxury.  Susan is also working, having been back for her first full week, and she is undoubtedly more sleep-deprived than me.  However things work out, I think I'll survive, with or without sleep.  It's not as if I haven't done it before.

            I've just left the last of a group of puking food-poisoning sufferers behind, gladly escaping the smell of regurgitated Chinese dumplings.  A cooking class gone awry, those poor people were trying to learn how to prepare some more exotic Thanksgiving fare, and ended up here.  That'll teach them to stray from tradition.

            I chuckle to myself as this thought crosses my mind, and I find Susan at admit, on the phone.  I walk up and stand near her, catching the end of her conversation, which is apparently with Chuck.

            "No, you have to put the bottle in the warmer first, then test a little on the inside of your—" she stops in mid sentence, which she was uttering through clenched teeth.  She sighs before continuing.  "Listen, I'm off in an hour and a half, do you think you can keep her alive until then?"  A pause while she prays for a positive response.  "Okay, good.  Bye.  Yeah, I love you, too."  She hangs up the phone, exasperated, and puts her head down on the desk.  I sympathetically rub her back. 

            "New mom stress?"  I console.

            "More like new dad stress.  Sometimes I'm surprised not to find her diaper on her head."  She looks up at me, grimacing, as I snort, then gives me a small smile.  "Seriously, Chuck is a good father, he is good with her, but it's been hard on both of us.  I mean, it's never easy.  No sleep, new questions every day…it's just a major adjustment."  She stands erect and puts her hands to her lower back, where I cease my massage.  "I thought having had Susie for so long would prepare me for this, but it doesn't seem to have helped at all.  This is all completely foreign to me."

            "Wish I could offer you some advice.  Unfortunately, the baby train has passed me by for now."  She pats my shoulder and winks at me.

            "Thank your lucky stars for that.  Not to say I don't love motherhood—or, actually, that I won't love it later on when I get to have a full nights' rest—but for right now I sometimes question my choice."  Just then, Sam walks up to us, a sense of urgency preceding her.

            "Susan, your potential appy in three just threw up.  I think she may have perfed."  Susan rolls her eyes.  Hey, isn't that **my** trademark?  She glances over at me.

            "And sometimes I question my career choice, too, but some things you can't go back on once they're done."  She follows Sam to the room her patient is waiting in so that they can rush her up to surgery.  I chuckle as she walks away.  One of the things I love about Susan is her ability to crack a joke even when she's stressed beyond belief.  Maybe spending so much time with her since she came back to County has helped me to change the way I have.

            A few more hours go by in my shift pretty uneventfully; it appears that everyone is saving their major traumas for tomorrow, for which I am incredibly grateful.  I'm working on some charts in the suture room—which should, officially, be the "chart-working-on room"—when Carter walks in.  I realize I haven't really talked to him in a week or so.  It's been a few months since our talk on the roof and about four months since Kem left.  Needless to say, he's been doing much better.  Obviously some grief still lingers, but, though I'm hesitant to say it for fear that I'll curse it, he seems to be very close to being the old Carter.  Our interaction feels very much like it did pre-Luka, which is odd, of course, but nice all the same. 

            He smiles as he enters, having found my "hiding" spot.  I return it, happy to see him.  I've missed him this week.

            "Hey, stranger," I say, putting down my pen.  "How are you?"

            "I'm pretty good," he replies, pulling up a stool to the gurney that has become my makeshift desk.  He doesn't say anything more, and for a moment we just look at each other, smiling.  A few seconds pass, and I can't maintain the silence; I start to giggle.  He laughs in return, and finally I have to speak.

            "Any plans for Thanksgiving?" I ask, and I notice a cloud pass over his face, but he doesn't let it linger and resumes smiling.

            "Nothing really.  I'm actually scheduled from 7 to 7.  My parents both have things to attend to—my Dad's got a new girlfriend—and so I think it's just going to be a quiet holiday."  He looks down then, and I notice that the cloud has passed by again.  This is the first real, "family" holiday that has come up since everything happened, and it must be hard.  Again he shakes it away and looks back up to meet my gaze.  "What about you?  I saw that you're not working."

            "Yeah, my mom and Eric are coming."  I see his look of surprise and it makes me giggle again.  "I know.  It's weird, isn't it?  Even weirder is the fact that I invited them.  They're doing so well that I thought we should all get together.  You know, maybe try for a Thanksgiving where no one tries to kill anyone and nobody cries."  This makes him laugh, but I also see a look in his eyes, one that I think is recognition of what this all means to me.  And Hell; I'm proud of myself.  Little Abby grew up.

            "That sounds like a good idea.  I hope you have a really good time."  He starts to stand, and it makes me wonder if this conversation hurts him too much, makes him realize what he doesn't have.  It sparks that need in me to ease his pain.

            "Carter, you know, if you get off of work, and you don't want to go home and be alone…you're more than welcome to come over and be with us.  They would both love to see you."  He looks away at first, and I wonder if I have crossed a line, if this proposal is too awkward because of our history.  But when he looks back, he is smiling again, and my heart does a little happy dance.

            "You know, Abby, I might just have to take you up on that offer.  I was a little disappointed that I wasn't going to get to have any stuffing." 

            "Oh, and there will be stuffing.  You know Maggie; when she does something like this, she goes all out.  I imagine there will be enough food for the entire hospital, patients **and** staff."  We share this joke between us, having shared the experience of Maggie's exuberance on many occasions.  I feel a twinge in my heart at this, and it takes me aback for a second.  What was that?  Huh.  Have to figure that one out later.  "Anyway, you can swing by anytime.  We're going to try to eat by 4, but chances are it will be much later.  They may not be crazy anymore, but they aren't punctual."

            "I'll remember that.  You can probably count on me being there."  He winks at me as he opens the door and steps out into the quiet hum of the ER, and then he is gone.  And damned if there wasn't that twinge again.  What **is** that? 

            Just as my brain starts to let the realization of what that twinge represents sink in, Chuny interrupts me to tell me that there is a trauma on its way in five minutes and I'm needed in the ambulance bay.  I decide that later I will have to find somewhere quiet to think over what just happened in my heart.

"Later" comes much later, as that trauma started the string of patients who accompany any holiday.   I manage to leave on time, which is a miracle unto itself, but thankfully Kerry mistakenly thought I'd said my family was coming in tonight and made sure I could leave as scheduled. 

            Fortunately, Maggie and Eric aren't expected in until mid-morning tomorrow, and that should give me a good 12 hours to rest, relax…and ponder.  I get on the El headed for home, the exhaustion sinking into my bones.  It becomes an art form as an intern, keeping at bay that need to sleep.  But as soon as I leave after a shift like this, it hits me and all I can think about is my bed and how much I want to be swallowed by it.

            So that's what I do when I get home: crawl into bed, only half undressed.  I can't be bothered with the whole process of my bedtime rituals.  Sleep is all I ask of the world right now.  I do manage to set my alarm, though, for a semi-reasonable hour so that I can spend some time alone, organizing my thoughts and emotions before the tornado that is my mother enters my home and distracts me from the real world of my life.  It is as soon as my head hits the pillow that I am asleep, drifting off to dreamland.

I sit straight up in bed as my alarm turns on and the Rolling Stones sing about not getting any satisfaction, and I involuntarily nod in agreement, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.  It's not something I think too much about, but it **has** been a long time since I had sex.  It's all just as well, as it keeps my life fairly uncomplicated, but still…we all have urges.  I guess that's the life of an intern, though. 

            I managed to get some much-needed sleep, and as I turn on the shower I stretch and let out what I hope is the last yawn of the day.  Maggie and Eric should be here in about 3 hours, which is plenty of time to clean up my apartment—which is currently strewn with the clothing I stripped off en route to my bed last night—and throw the turkey in.  Due to my being the first one here (since I live here), I'm on turkey duty.  I do manage to make a good bird, so no one will suffer for my efforts.  Maggie, however, insisted on preparing nearly everything else, making the argument that I am a hard-working doctor and should be taken care of by her mother.  I wasn't about to disagree.  I can try to get used to this, the idea of having a "normal" family.  And today will be the start of that, officially.

            After my shower I throw on some comfortable clothes—today doesn't require anything more formal than a t-shirt and jeans—and take to tidying my abode.  And as I clean, I think about those little heart twinges I felt yesterday.  I remember those, from a couple of years back, when Carter and I were still just friends and I finally let myself accept my feelings for him.  When he first kissed me in the trauma room, I felt one of those twinges.  And, honestly, every time after that that he kissed me, it happened.

            So, I know what causes them, and apart from suddenly having developed a heart murmur I'll have to assume that he's the reason I'm experiencing this now.  But why?  We broke up a year ago, and I've dealt with all of my hurt and anger and everything.  I've moved on with my life, I'm happy as the doctor I've become.  He moved on with his and fell in love with Kem, and despite the fact that their relationship didn't survive their tragedy, I'd have to assume that their union signified his being over me. 

            Right?

            I sit down on my bed suddenly as I realize that I'm not sure if this is true.  I mean, it wouldn't make any sense, would it?  **He** is the reason we broke up.  **He** went to Africa, **he** met someone else.  But the fact of the matter is, his letter didn't say that he was breaking up with me because he didn't care about me anymore.  He just said that things weren't working between us and we needed time to figure things out.  To paraphrase, of course.  At the time, I felt rejected and unloved, but now I can look back and see the logic behind what he did.  He was absolutely right; we weren't good for each other. 

            Back then.

            The two words resound in my head, and they're so loud I almost look around to see who said them.  Okay, so back then we weren't right for each other.  Is that supposed to mean that we could be right for each other now?  I know that I've changed.  I'm pretty sure that in one way or another he's changed.  Any kind of trauma someone goes through naturally changes them.  But would he have changed in a way that would help to make us better for each other?

            I have spent countless hours thinking about what it was that ended us.  I know things hadn't been working for a while, that at some point before his grandmother died something had happened that made our relationship not work.  I've never been able to pinpoint the exact moment that we fell apart, but I do know that somehow, some way, we weren't functioning as a couple.  His grandmother's death and my subsequent inability to help him grieve because of the tremendously unfortunate timing of my brother's breakdown was the straw that broke our camel's back. 

            But I sometimes find myself wondering: if I hadn't been so stubborn, if I had just let him apologize, make his amends to me that morning, instead of asking for my key back, would we have reconciled?  He undoubtedly would have gone back to Africa anyway to find Luka, but would he have stayed?  What if I had been a more selfless person and just allowed myself to understand what he was going through?  Would he and Kem never have created a child together? 

            The funny thing is, a year ago these thoughts would have immobilized me.  I would beat myself up for weeks because I'd screwed up.  But now all I come back to is the fact that I believe, in some way, that what Carter suffered through over the past year will make him better.  Something like that, you either get better or you get worse, and Carter's a fighter; he'll let it make him better.  Just like I managed to allow my heartbreak to force me into changing my life in a forward direction. 

            But when I come back to those twinges…they make me wonder if I've never really gotten over him.  I don't know if, after all this time, I can believe that there is such a thing as a "love of your life", but if I did, I would have to say that John Carter is mine.  And if it were true, if this idea was real, then there's no possible way to get over that person.  They are your perfect fit. 

            That's a big "if", though.  The new Abby would be more likely to believe in such things, but even the most optimistic person would be skeptical after everything I've gone through and seen people do to each other.  But despite all that…it still makes me warm inside to think about him.  Man, when it was good between us it was…well, honestly, there are no words.  And I'm a former English major.  When **I** can't come up with words, you know something is major. 

            So, here I am, sitting on my bed, realizing I have to finish cleaning and get the turkey in the oven.  And when I stand up and approach my dresser to place my sweater back inside the drawer, I glance in the mirror and I see the smile that has plastered itself on my face.  It's a smile I haven't seen in a while, a smile only one thing has ever been able to produce in me.  It scares the crap out of me while at the same time it tickles me down to my very soul, the way only love can.

            I'm in love with John Carter.  Still, after all this time.  And something tells me that will never change.


	9. Backward and Forward

**TITLE**  At the End of Chaos

**RATING**  PG-13 (and I'm still not really sure why)

**SUMMARY**  Thanksgiving Day, from Carter's POV

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**  This chapter is SUPER long!!  Don't keep expecting, it, though; I just didn't want to switch perspectives in the middle. 

I continue to be SO grateful for the reviews.  You inspire me to keep writing more and more.  Many of you are excellent writers, and I am so flattered that you enjoy my work. 

**DISCLAIMER**  Carter and Abby are good friends of mine (this is such a sickness), but I do not own them. 

CARTER

Thanksgiving day dawns brightly, with the brisk November air wafting through my kitchen window.  As I endure my black morning coffee, I close the window to the air that promises to get even colder.  It has been unseasonably warm the past week, but according to the news there is a cold front dawning.  We may even be welcoming some snow flurries into our Turkey Day celebrations.  Ah, Chicago.

            The hospital is rife with a staff that is a role call of those without families: Luka, Sam (those two are each other's family nowadays), Neela (who isn't American anyway), Morris (would anyone want to claim this guy as family?), Pratt, and me (this isn't how it was supposed to be).  There are, of course, some interns as well.  I can't help feeling that it is monumental that Abby is not here, though I knew that she wouldn't be.  This the first time in the five years I have known her that she's had a reason not to be here on a holiday.  The things that have changed in her life overwhelm me at times, especially when it occurs to me that I had nothing to do with them.  Not that I am self-centered enough to think that they should have—though I do, sometimes, have a tendency to think only of myself—but I have to say that it disappoints me to know that I can't share in these newfound joys of hers.  I mean, of course, as more than a friend.  It seems we only ever really faced the downside of life together, and it might have been nice to know what it was like to taste the sweet nectar of good times as a couple.

            Wow, what was in that coffee?  What has therapy done to me?  I have got to find an alternative to caffeine.

            There is always a certain predictability to each holiday at the hospital.  On Valentine's Day you get the costumed telegram deliverers and spurned lovers; Easter brings the kids who are sick from too much chocolate; Fourth of July finds firework injuries; Christmas, of course, homeless Santas and parents who have fought over that one last toy at the store.  Thanksgiving is no different: knives through hands from people who have failed to properly carve their turkey; food poisoning from whatever food they let their crazy relative prepare, or the turkey that is not cooked through enough.  And, of course, the gunshot wounds and stabbings that occur when feuding family members try to sit down for a peaceful holiday meal and end up rehashing old demons and can't help reliving old Jerry Springer-like moments of their lives.  You'd think people could find it in themselves to enjoy **one day** together in harmony, but most just can't do it.  Hell, most of the time, my parents couldn't do it.

            And just look at Abby's family.

            The invitation to join their celebration came as a very welcome surprise to me yesterday.  I'd like to pretend that I'm okay being alone on a day that is really meant to celebrate family, but I'm done doing that.  It hurts, it really does.  And though the grieving process has slowed to a trickle, times like this are what catch me off guard.  Fortunately, Dr. Thatcher has taught me how to better deal with these days, so I don't just shut down and shut people out.  That, my friends, is what we call growth.

            So I go through my day, dealing with the inevitable patients, and the occasional patient whose injury is in no way connected to Turkey festivities.  There is one girl in particular, dying from a cancer that has ravaged her whole body, who manages to charm everyone she comes in contact with.  She has a vivacity about her that no one in her position has any right to.  Her parents tell me she has been fighting for almost two full years, and it seems that, now, she may not even make it to Christmas.  I approach her room with caution, not wanting to be the one to have to actually discuss her disease with her.

            "Hey Julie, I'm Dr. Carter; how are you feeling today?"  I pull a stool up to her bedside.  It's just me and her; I sent her parents off to the cafeteria to get a bite to eat. 

            "A little tired, but okay, I guess," she says, then smiles.  "Okay, a lot tired, but we won't tell my parents that."  I smile in return, and look over at Chuny, who is inserting an I.V. 

            "Well, do you want the run down of why you're in here today?"  I place the chart down on her bed, glancing up at her sheepishly.

            "I think I can probably guess.  Low platelet count, etc., etc…I've heard it before."  She sounds so much older than her 13 years.  It's always funny to me how an imminent death ages the young.  "I know I only have a little while left, Dr. Carter.  God and me, we've talked it over, and I'm okay with it."  She smiles at me again, and though her words are not happy ones, I can't help but smile back.  I look over at Chuny, who is smiling as well, but I do notice the glistening in her eyes.  She finishes the I.V. and leaves the room.  I see Julie watch the nurse leave, then as her eyes make their way back to me, they pause on her hands, which are fidgeting in her lap.  She sighs, and looks up at me; this time her smile is sad.  "You know what I'm **not** okay with?  All the things I never got to do.  And I know Heaven is way better than all that stuff, but still…"  Her voice drifts off into silence.

            "That's understandable."  I consider her for a moment.  If I were her—or her parents—I think I'd be raging, throwing things, hitting people.  It's one thing to lose a child before you ever get to experience them in this world, but to see them grow up, see them walk and run and talk and play, know the possibility that lays before them, and then see that possibility cut short, has to be the worst thing in the world.  To see her strength floors me.

            "It's, you know, the little things.  High school, and college, and I've never…kissed a boy."  She blushes when she says this and looks away self-consciously.  Then, a thought occurs to her, and she giggles, the way only a 13-year-old girl can.  "My friends and I have a joke about finding the cutest boy in my class and getting him to kiss me.  We figure, since I'm dying, no one could say no."  She continues giggling, probably picturing that boy, the one they chose to be her first and only kiss.  I join in her laughter but there is no mirth behind it.  She suddenly becomes serious, and when she speaks it is with a wisdom that it seems only a few people I know have ever achieved.  "You know what makes me the most sad?"  I nod, answering her rhetorical question.  "I see all these adults, people who are supposed to be so smart.  And they do know a lot of stuff, about George Washington and Vietnam and that kind of stuff.  But what none of them ever really know is how to seize those moments of joy that we all get.  They can go on and on and **on** about history, for days sometimes, it seems.  But they don't find time to spend with the people they love.  They don't make sure that the people in their lives know how they feel about them.  People waste so much time thinking things are complicated and hard to understand, and they never just say what they feel."  She sighs, and while she pauses I notice that I am exuberantly nodding along.  This child is so incredibly right.  "It just…sucks, you know?"  She looks up at me with her innocent eyes, which are starting to droop from the efforts of our conversation.  I nod again in agreement, and at this moment her parents enter the room.  I look back at them and smile gloomily; we are all players in a game meant to keep Julie happy and comfortable until the looming hour of her death. 

            "How're you doing, sweetheart?"  Her mother coos as she steps up to the bed.  Julie is starting to drift off into dreamland, a place where she kisses all the boys and gets to live out those experiences that her real life will never allow her. 

            "I'm…good," she responds, sleepily.  Her mother smiles fondly and sadly.  She knows that each time Julie sleeps is part of a countdown. 

            "Why don't you get some sleep, honey?"  Her father steps up as well, placing a palliative arm around his wife.  Julie does so and promptly, and I make my way out of the room, leaving them alone.

            There are doctors who can remain unaffected by such scenes, but I've never been one of them, and frankly I don't understand them.  I refuse to become one of those robots who just treats the patients as if they have no emotion.  I have discovered that if you take those grains of wisdom that suffering patients can offer you, you can live a better life.  Or try, anyway.

            At the end of my shift I make sure that I pass Julie off to Luka, who I know can treat her case delicately.  I would not trust the likes of Morris to handle her. 

            The streets are fairly empty, as most people are tucked into their homes on this frigid evening, eating and laughing and reminiscing.  I am hoping I can find a parking space in front of Abby's building, which may prove to be impossible with all the relatives I'm sure must be visiting the residents surrounding her.

            A small miracle dawns in my life when I find a spot right in front.  As I park and get out of my car, I find that there are small butterflies playing in my stomach.  Why?  I wonder, mounting the steps two at a time.  I realize I am excited for this.  It is surely a welcome distraction from the reality of the day, and I can't wait for the feeling of family to envelope me, as it tends to do when I'm with Abby.  For a short time I imagined that this family **would** be mine, and so maybe today I can pretend that I am still living in that era of my life.

            As I wait for Abby to answer the door, I am transported back to the last time I was here.  It was a morning that would irrevocably change our lives.  I entered this apartment with a key that would not be mine for long, and watched her sleep, so peacefully, in the shafts of moonlight drifting over her form.  When she awoke, I expected a quiet greeting, a happy greeting, and to apologize.  Perhaps that we would make love, reconciling the tension that preceded my departure.  Instead I was greeted with something probably more appropriate; anger, bitterness, and Abby's stubborn scowl requesting that I return my freedom to enter her home.  It shocked and hurt me to the core, though I now realize I probably deserved nothing better.

            I'm broken out of this reverie by the door opening, but instead of Abby in front of me, I see the blur of red and orange that is Maggie.

            "Oh, John, we're so glad you're here!" she exclaims, and then her arms are around me in a giant hug, marking the amount of time it's been since we last saw each other.  It strikes me that the last time I saw her, I was showing her the ring I was going to use to propose to her daughter—the love of my life. 

            Before I can speak she is ushering me into the apartment I have come to know so well, and the door is closing behind me, my coat being removed. 

            "Come in, come in!"  This request is pointless, as I am already "in", but she says it anyway, her brown eyes sparkling.  I smell those typical Thanksgiving smells: turkey, gravy, stuffing, cinnamon.  It feels like home.

            Maggie ushers me towards the small kitchen where I see the feast laid out as best it can be in the tiny space: platters and bowls lining the counter, the table set with Abby's only good plates and silverware, tapered candles lit in the center.  I see Abby's butt before I see anything else of her, which invariably makes me laugh.  She is pulling the turkey out of the oven, and as she turns to put it on the counter in the only space left for it, she sees me and smiles in a way I hadn't realized she could.  I can't help but mirror it; and I understand that, finally, Abby has allowed herself to be truly happy. 

            While we end this moment between us—which lasts all of 2.5 seconds—Eric comes into the room.  I turn to see him, and I see the look of worry that crosses his face.  It is not lost on anyone how we last saw each other.

            "Hey, John," he says, hesitantly, rubbing his hands together.

            "Hey, Eric," I reply, smiling warmly at him.  I want to ease this tension, because I hold no grudges against any of these people.  He appears to feel this, and relaxes.

            "Where's the bird?  I'm on carving duty!"  He wraps Abby in a big brother bear hug, and she laughs, the sound filling the air and my soul.  He releases her and picks up the electric knife.  As the buzzing starts, Abby comes over to me, her hands in the back pocket of her jeans, still smiling.  Her eyes move in the direction of both her family members and then back to me, as if saying "see? How weird is this?"  She snorts, and I can't help chuckling.  There is so much joy in this apartment right now, I might burst.

            "You didn't wait for me, did you?"  I ask.

            "Oh, no; I got the turkey in later than I planned.  Are you really surprised?" 

            "I want to be nice and say yes, but I just can't lie."  She punches me playfully in the arm and I feign tenderness.  Maggie walks up then, ushering us to the table where Eric is starting to serve the first of the turkey.

            "Come on kids, we might want to eat this before Christmas!"  She pulls out a chair for me and seats me right next to Abby. 

            "But mom, we have to get all the food off the counters, we can't sit yet." Abby says, as she sets herself into her chair.

            "I thought we'd say grace first," Maggie replies as Eric sets the serving fork on the counter and stands next to his mother.  "Who'd like to go first?"

            "First?  Mom, why don't you just say it and we'll eat?  I'm starving," Abby whines, and for a moment I imagine her as an 11-year-old the way she should have been.

            "Now Abby, we all have to say what we're thankful for.  It's tradition."

            "Tradition?  Mom, the only tradition we've ever had…" she starts, but I stop her.

            "Come on, Abby, let's do it.  Your mom and brother came all this way and your mother wants us to share."  I wink at her, convincing her to comply.  She does, pretending to hate it, but I can tell that she loves this unexpected happiness.  "Maggie, why don't you go first?"

            "Okay.  We should say the blessing first.  Bless us oh Lord, for these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive…"  She does the traditional Catholic blessing, though I know that their connection to the Church has not exactly been strong in the last 20 years.  But it feels appropriate, and I can't help looking at these three bowed heads around me and putting aside any grief that might have crept into my heart this day.  There is no place for it among this family. 

            As Maggie finishes her blessing, I am looking at Abby, and she looks up, catching my eyes.  She looks…so content.  It's like she's a different person.  Changed, which is ironic considering what she said a year and a half ago. 

            Her face contorts into confusion, and I realize that I must have looked very odd just then, staring at her.  Then she is giggling, and I am once again lost in the joy.  Maggie begins giving her thanks, and then passes it to Eric, who mentions family and sanity, which makes us all chortle.  It is not uncomfortable, which is demonstrative of the progress these people have made.

            Then it is Abby's turn, and once again she meets my eyes.  I am incredibly curious to hear what she has to say.  As she begins to speak, her eyes wander over the three of us, and then they seem to get lost, thinking.

            "I'm thankful for…this moment, right now.  For all the joy that swells in this room, and for perhaps making up for so much lost time.  For my family, who have almost, through the years, driven me as crazy as they are."  Maggie and Eric almost fall to the floor with laughter at this, and Abby snorts at her own joke, rolling her eyes at their foolishness.  Then, her eyes fall on mine.  This time her look is more intense than all the others we have shared this day.  "And, finally, for…friends.  For friends being so much like family that you almost can't tell the difference."  She winks at me then, and a little thrill passes from my head down to my feet.  How one person can have such an effect on another is beyond me, but she does it to me every time; always has. 

            "Oh, honey, that's beautiful!" Maggie says, giving Abby a hug.  "You can tell you used to be an English major, your words are so beautiful."  She gazes fondly on her daughter, and then looks to me.  "John?  Last but not least?"  She looks expectantly, and I blink.  I don't know what Abby has told them about what has happened, but I'm sure if they knew I wouldn't be asked to do this.  Abby suddenly looks worried, and puts her hand to her mother's arm.

            "Uh, mom, Carter's worked all day, and he—he doesn't have to if he doesn't want to."  She glances at me, questioningly.  I shrug.  It's the least I can do, after all they have given me today.

            "No, it's fine.  I am thankful for…getting through it all, one way or another.  And for having somewhere to turn when you've got nothing left."  I wink at Maggie, who smiles triumphantly.  I feel Eric pat me on the back, and Abby stands, kissing me on the head.  The memory of that is not lost on me, and for a moment I am almost lost in the pain, until her hand on my arm lifts me back out of it and I am content once again.

Dinner with the Wysenskis is exuberant, loud, crazy (which is, of course, appropriate), and loving.  They reminisce over their lives, over the last year and a half that they have not seen each other, and they compliment each other on the meal laid before us.  And the compliments are well-deserved; I have had many more formal Thanksgiving dinners that did not taste nearly this good.  When we finish I am as stuffed as the turkey, barely able to move.  Maggie attempts to usher us "kids" out of the kitchen so that she can clean up, but in the end Abby and I argue her away to curl up on the couch with Eric.  She has prepared nearly this entire meal, and does not deserve to be washing dishes. 

            We clean in silence at first, finding a rhythm that only lovers can have together.  I don't think this fact passes either one of us by, and it occurs to me that maybe now is the time to put old demons to rest.  It is a day to be grateful, and maybe if we do this we can both be more grateful for our friendship.

            "Abby—" I begin, but find that she has apparently had the same idea, as she says "John—" at the same time.  We chuckle, and I find that my hand rests softly on her arm.  When the laughter fades we are left in silence, pondering each other.  She is the first one to break it.

            "You go first," she says, quietly.  I am about to speak when Maggie comes in, putting on her coat.

            "Abby, John?  Eric and I are stuffed.  We're going to go see if we can walk some of it off.  Would you like to join us?"  She flips her hair over the brim of her jacket, and looks eagerly at us.    I realize in that second that my hand still lingers on Abby's arm, and as I remove it I notice that Maggie has seen this, too.

            "I think we're going to stay here and get this cleaned up, mom, but thanks." 

            "Oh, okay.  We'll be back in a little while," Maggie says, before exiting the room with a grin.  We hear the door to the apartment shut behind them, and turn to face each other.  We are silent for a moment, not sure how to continue after the interruption.

            "I said you go first," she says, jokingly.  She is smiling but I can tell she is uncertain.

            "I guess I just…I wanted to say thank you for all of this," I say, gesturing to indicate the food and the table and the whole apartment.

            "Well, I know how hard things have been, and I just didn't want you to be alone."  She crosses her arms in front of her, still holding the towel with which she was drying the dishes.  I take a small step toward her.

            "No, Abby, it's more than that.  I don't know that I deserve the kind of kindness you have shown me, especially this.  Inviting me into your home with your family on a holiday like this was just…way beyond what most people would do."  I put my hand on the counter, leaning my weight on it, and she cocks her head at me.  It drives me crazy how much I want to know what's going on in her head, but I need to allow her to give it to me at her own pace.  I owe her that much. 

            "Well, I guess you're right," she says, definitely throwing me off guard.  But I can see the hint of a smile on her face, and I know that I should take this remark lightly.  "Carter, what you said on the roof that day is right: we weren't ever fair to each other.  We just constantly hurt each other back and forth with our insecurities.  It was never anybody's fault."  She moves to the coffee machine, instinctively knowing that a conversation like this requires it.  "However, I will say that breaking up with me in a letter that makes it's way through the ER and makes me prime for the gossip mill might have been a poor choice."  She pushes the button to start the coffee, and turns to look at me pointedly.  I blow out my breath, moving to sit at the table, which is the only thing that has been cleared.  I push a chair back and sit with my legs out in front of me, one arm resting on the table.  I look at her with what can only be described as a hang-dog expression.

            "Oh, Abby…I'm so stupid.  Of everything that has happened, that is probably what I regret most.  It was the most unequally hurtful thing I could have done.  It killed me when you asked me for my key, but I don't think that sending you a "dear john" letter from Africa quite matched that in hurtfulness."  She moves to the table and sits next to me, her back to the sink.  She clasps her hands together in what looks like a prayer of sorts, then sighs.

            "I want so badly to be angry enough to scream and yell for that, John, but to be honest, I got over it a long time ago.  It was either that or wallow in my own self-pity, and frankly I think I got a lot more done taking the other road."  She smiles despite herself.  Then the smile fades, and she very quietly and carefully continues.  "What hurt me more than that was seeing you with a new, pregnant girlfriend so quickly after I got that letter."  She meets my gaze then, and finally I glimpse the true pain that I caused her.  My heart breaks, but this time it's for Abby and not for me.  There's silence again, except for the coffee percolating on the counter.  I search for words, but the truth is, there aren't enough ways in the world to say "I'm sorry."  I guess all I can do is try to find them.

            "I'm so sorry for that, Abby.  I don't…know what made me not realize how hard that would be for you.  Kem and I—we weren't meant for each other.  At the time, though, it seemed like an answer.  And yet, to this day, I still don't know what the question was."  I look down at my lap, and only look back up when I feel her hand on my arm.  She is looking at me intensely, but with compassion and love, not anger.

            "John, I don't want to try and make you feel like the jerk I once considered you to be.  A lot has happened in both our lives; a lot has changed.  I know I told you I didn't think people ever really change, but obviously I was wrong.  I was always so scared, especially of how I felt about you.  I thought that it could only ever end badly, you know?  Loving people had only ever gotten me hurt, and I thought that, because I loved you more than I'd ever loved anyone before, the hurt had to be that much—what?"  She is taken aback by the shocked expression on my face, which I don't think I'd realized was there.  It takes me a moment to speak.

            "You—you loved me?"  I lean forward, eager for the answer.

            "Oh.  Well, yes.  I thought—I thought you knew that?"  She is suddenly uncomfortable, and stands to pour us both some coffee.  I follow her. 

            "No, Abby, I don't think I did.  You never…said it, so I assumed you didn't feel it."  She stops what she's doing, thinking.  So many things seem to pass through her mind in the quiet moments before she speaks, that I think briefly she must be analyzing every second of our relationship.  She looks at me before she opens her mouth.

            "Jesus, you're right.  I guess…it's been so long, I think I just never realized that I didn't say it.  I assumed…you knew, you know?"  She turns so that her whole body is facing me, her hand still holding the cup of coffee.  "Because I did, John.  I really, really did." 

            "Wow.  I can't believe…I mean, all that time, I was always wondering exactly how you felt, what you wanted.  I think maybe even when I was going to propose that it was partly to find out if you were really in love with me."  I see a brief streak of pain cloud her eyes, remembering that rejection.  I take her hands in mine, needing to reassure her, making her meet my eyes.  "Abby, my not asking you to marry me was **not** because I didn't want you.  Like you said, we were both so insecure, and because I wasn't sure about you, I couldn't risk you saying no."    She bites her lip, and now again I'm not sure what she's feeling and thinking.  "Abby, I loved you so much it hurt me.  I didn't even know it was possible to love that much before I met you.  Sometimes I think…that maybe I—"  But I can't make myself tell her this now.  I stop myself before I say too much.  Her forehead wrinkles in curiosity.

            "What?  What is it you sometimes think?"  My mouth opens, but before I can get any words out, the door bursts open and Maggie is shrieking.  Panic starts to set in before I realize what she is saying.

            "It's snowing!  It's so beautiful, you two have to come see!"  She grabs our hands and we are being led downstairs, no coats, into the cold.  Maggie continues on to where Eric is standing, trying to catch snowflakes with his tongue like a child.  Abby and I both laugh at this from our spot on the top step.  I look out at the snow; huge flakes fall like puffs of cotton from the sky.  It is so beautiful, I almost want to cry.  I look over at Abby, who is laughing and smiling and clapping at her mother's and Eric's antics.  My gaze returns to the street in wonderment.  And as I think about the exquisiteness of this day, of all the things that happened, of the words that have been said by me and Abby and Julie, I suddenly feel a small, familiar hand grasp my own.  I turn my head to the right, where this beautiful, complex woman stands next to me, and find her eyes turned in my direction.  But we don't speak, we just look at each other, grinning and serious at the same time.

            If it's possible, I think we have just moved forward and backward all at once. 


	10. Memory

**TITLE**  At the End of Chaos

**RATING**  PG-13 (hey, they might have sex or something eventually)

**SUMMARY**  How is Abby feeling about the moments she and John shared on Thanksgiving?

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**  Wow…I'm making people cry, and people are saying my fic is one of the best…I don't think I can get out my office door anymore cause my head has grown too big.  Honestly, I love writing and I especially love writing the complexity of Carby, so your comments are an amazing perk!

ABBY

As I bid adieu to Maggie and Eric Sunday afternoon, I can't help thinking about how amazing the human mind is.  Memory is a funny thing; you can live a lifetime of bad experiences, but--apparently--good experiences can erase all that and replace them and it's as if the bad times never happened.  It appears that now, so late in life, I have grabbed hold of the good stuff, and am throwing out all those awful moments in honor of the good things coming my way. 

            My mother hugs me tightly before getting into the car, and I can tell she is close to crying.  I roll my eyes at this, but only because I am her daughter and that is my job.

            "Christmas, all right?  Will you come?" she says, pulling away.

            "I don't know, mom.  I don't know if I can get away.  I'm going to be suffering for weeks because of Thursday."  Disappointment threatens to break through her smile.  "But I'll try, okay?  Or maybe--I'd love it if you guys came here.  I might actually get a Christmas tree."  I wink at her, and the smile remains on her face, thankfully.

            "That sounds good.  Maybe we can come back."  She cocks her head to one side in a gesture that reminds me of…well, me.  "Keep me up to date about you and John, okay?"  She and I briefly discussed mine and Carter's conversation, but the whole thing was kind of left unfinished Thursday night between he and I.  We held hands among the falling snowflakes and then we went back to the apartment, finished the dishes, and got caught up in a game of Scrabble until he could barely stay awake.  After a cup of coffee and a promise to talk later, he returned to his own apartment.  Because of this, I didn't want to go into too much detail with Maggie about what was said between us.  For now, I'd like to not jinx anything.  And, yes, that is the old me coming out to play.

            "Yeah, mom, I'll let you know what happens.  We are still just friends, though." 

            "I know, honey, I just…well, you know how I feel about him.  You two were so good together, and I want you to be happy."  I open my mouth to speak, and her hand touches my mouth to stop me.  "I know, I know, Abby.  You are happy.  But everyone deserves to be with their true love."  She narrows her eyes at me, a giggle dancing in her irises.  "I do want grandchildren some day, you know," she teases.  She pinches my nose, and I can't help but laugh.

            "Oh, mom.  We'll have to see, all right?"  We embrace one last time, and I hug my brother who has just placed the last bag in the trunk.  They get in the car, and I stand on the sidewalk waving until I see them disappear around the corner at the end of the street.

            It does not go unnoticed by me that a tear travels down my cheek as I watch them depart.

I have to work the 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. shift tonight, and I was on yesterday 12 to 12, so after they leave I eat a light lunch and head to bed to nap for a few hours.  I find, however, that as soon as I'm under the covers I become completely restless.  My mind starts racing around Thanksgiving and the days following it.  Not that anything really happened since then, but I haven't been able to think properly about that conversation with Eric and Maggie here and having to work.  I have seen Carter a couple of times at the hospital, but we seemed to be short-staffed both days and we were only able to smile fondly at each other across the ER.

            But I think, maybe, that the time we've both had to think it all over will help.  I felt closer to Carter that day than I've felt to him—or anyone, for that matter—in a **long** time, but whether that means I want to attempt a relationship with him again remains to be seen.  That may make me stupid for having put my hand in his, but the gesture felt so right in that moment, watching my family and the snow falling around us.  I have always held back on those things, but I've learned to go with what I feel, and in that instant, that window of time, I **felt** like holding Carter's hand.

            Although, if I'm honest with myself, that isn't all I felt like doing.  When he looked at me, when we smiled into each other's eyes, I felt like kissing him.  Fortunately I caught myself in time, realizing that something so bold would have to be on Carter's terms.  He is the one who has suffered through a great loss, and it will have to wait until he is ready.  **If** he is ever ready. 

            Oh, shit.  I'm never going to be able to sleep.  I throw back the covers and hop out of bed, my feet hitting the floor harder than I'd expected them to.  I make my way, frustrated, to the shower, deciding that all this thinking isn't helping me and, although I don't have to be at work for 3 hours, there are always medical journals to be read.  And there's nothing wrong with putting in a few extra hours; additional hands are always needed in the ER.

            And, oh yeah; Carter's working right now. 


	11. Slow

**TITLE**  At the End of Chaos

**RATING**  PG-13

**SUMMARY**  Carter's POV; Carter and Abby are both trying to work through what happened Thanksgiving Day, and deciding where to go from here.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**  You know, on the worst of days, I see what y'all think of my fics and it makes me so happy.  Please continue to read and review, as this story will go on for a while until I feel like I've told all I can tell of their story.

CARTER

I'm beginning to think the weather is too cold for this.  The breeze off the river makes it even worse, but I wrap my coat tighter around me and grasp my coffee cup as if it can warm my whole body.  I tell myself I need to be away from the hospital on my breaks, need to escape the madness and just think, because amidst the rush and rabble of the ER, my thoughts can't win.  So I come out here and weed through my daily musings.

            Christmas is coming soon.  Thanksgiving marks the yearly countdown to the busiest of holidays.  In the past, I would be feeling that excitement, that anticipation of all that goes into it.  This year, it brings back that empty feeling that losing Kem and our baby created.  A year ago, I was finding out she was pregnant, and we were happy.  Of course, it's not like it was at first.  I can fight the pain, keep it at bay.  It doesn't threaten to immobilize me.  But it certainly affects my mood and patience. 

            However, dueling with that sadness are the butterflies I still feel from last Thursday night.  Abby and I haven't been able to talk about it at all, but I've seen her smile at me over everyone's heads and I know that it was a positive step.  I talked about it in my session with Dr. Thatcher this morning, and he helped me clear up my feelings about it.

            "So, you and Abby had a 'moment'?" he asked, after I explained what had happened.

            "Yeah." I replied, smiling at the memory.

            "And how does that make you feel?"  Therapist open-ended questions.  They always make me want to chuckle.  This time, however, my smile fades and I become thoughtful.

            "Uh…"  I sigh.  "Scared?  Happy?  Hopeful?  I don't know.  I mean, part of me knows how bad she and I were for each other.  All we ever did was hurt each other, sometimes more than we made each other happy.  But then I can't help but realize that we've both changed and grown, and that maybe we wouldn't do that this time."  I scratch my forehead, and pause long enough that Dr. Thatcher feels the need to interject.

            "Well, you knew you still had feelings for her, right?  And when your relationship ended, it was because of the timing of events at the time."  I nod in agreement, not looking at him, still thinking.  "But my question is, do you think you have healed from what happened with Kem and your child enough for you to attempt a relationship—this relationship in particular—at this time?"  This question surprises me, and I look up at him.  Somehow, I hadn't even considered this. 

            "I, um, I'm not sure.  I mean, if we took it slowly, didn't jump in the way we did before, maybe it could work."  I pause again, considering.  "What do **you** think about it?"

            "It's not impor—" he replies, attempting to dodge the question.  Fortunately I'm very experienced in dealing with issue-dodgers.

            "Doc, come on.  Just tell me what you think."  I look at him pointedly, and he relents.

            "John, I think you have come a very long way since June.  For all intents and purposes, your life has returned to 'normal.'"  He does the quotation marks in the air, implying that my life is anything but.  " **But**—and this is a pretty big one—you and Abby are both recovering addicts.  This makes you naturally codependent.  So if you haven't both grown as much as you think, you may slip back into your old patterns and not be capable of having a more healthy relationship than the one you already had."  I take a second to absorb this information, disappointed, and before I can respond, he continues, sighing.  "But, John, do you want my layman's opinion?"  I nod.  "If you truly love each other, and that love has survived all this time apart, then as long as you work at it, it can be the relationship you both desire."  He smiles at me, knowing that this is what I really wanted to hear, not the psycho-babble about addiction.  And then our time has finished, and I am back out into the world.

            So that leaves me with a lot to think about.  Abby and I need to take it slowly.  **IF** she even wants to try this again.  It just seems so odd to go back to the earlier parts of "dating" when we've already slept together.  A lot.  How do people do that?  I guess they just pretend that they're starting anew, as if they've just met.  I think we can do that.  Only if she's willing, though.

            "I thought I'd find you here," a voice says, and as I turn to see who, it is the woman who was passing through my mind just now.  Speak of the devil. 

            "Hey," I say, smiling. 

            "Hey yourself," she replies, and I notice that she's got two cups of coffee in her gloved hands.  I cock my eyebrow, questioning.  "Well I thought maybe you didn't have one, or would need a fresh cup."  She peeks into the one in my hand.  "Guess I was wrong," she says, smirking.  She sets down one of the cups she's holding on the cement wall, bringing the other one to her lips.  I can't help watching her do all this with a kind of fascination.  How is it that such simple things can demonstrate how different she is?  She notices me looking at her, and squints her eyes at me.  "What?"

            "Nothing," I respond quickly.  It's a good thing she's not psychic.  She doesn't appear to believe me, but doesn't push the issue.  She resumes drinking her coffee, and I do the same.  Drinking mine, that is.  And while we stand there in silence, I ponder the fact that sometimes what's **not** being said is as important as what is. 

            "So, how have things been this past week?  It seems like we never get to talk anymore," she says, both of us knowing that the last time we did get to talk was a week ago today, and that the conversation was a pretty big one. 

            "They've been…fine," I reply hesitantly, knowing there's more I want to say and not knowing where to start.  She seems to sense this awkwardness—I mean, come on; this is Abby—and decides to take the initiative.

            "Thanksgiving was nice, huh?  I had a really good time."  She smiles at me mischievously, as if this is a game we're playing.  Who-Can-Avoid-the-Topic-Longest?

            "Yeah, it was great.  Thanks again for having me over."  I wink at her, letting her know I'm in on her ploy.

            "No problem.  Anything to maintain the balance of the craziness, you know?"  She winks back at me, and suddenly I don't care if I win or lose this game.  

            "You know, Abby, I've been thinking a lot since that night.  I know something happened between us, and I know you felt it, too."  She raises her eyebrows to imply she doesn't know what I'm talking about, but she can't fool me.  "Standing outside with you, holding hands, watching the snow…it was the best, most real thing I've felt in a really long time."  Her face is serious now, forgetting her own playfulness.  I take a step closer, leaving only one between us. 

            "Yeah, Carter, it was pretty great.  It wasn't…what I was expecting."  She clears her throat, looking down.  "What do you think it means?"  She raises her eyes to me, hopefully.  Oh, what I wouldn't do to make all her wishes come true.

            "I think it means that maybe there's something still there between us."  This time I make a question mark of my forehead, and she nods. 

            "What—what do you think we should do about it?"  She touches my hand, and I lock my fingers in hers.  We close the space between us, essentially leaving no room for the bad things we are hoping to leave behind.

            "I think we should go on a date," I say quietly after a time, and suddenly she's laughing, all seriousness gone from our conversation.  I realize how silly what I said sounded, and then I'm laughing, too.  "What?"  I manage through my laughter.  It takes her a minute to catch her breath. 

            "Nothing, Carter.  That just…sounds like you're 15 years old!"  And then she's laughing again.  She can't stand up anymore; she collapses on the bench with her giggles.  I join her, laughing too, though not as badly as her.  I feign a hurt face, and she stops laughing.  "Oh, John, I didn't mean it.  It's—actually a great idea."  I remove the hurt from my face, and this time I smile uncertainly.

            "So, you…want to try this again?"  I glance at her through my lowered, cautious eyelashes.  She pauses for a moment, and I think she might say no, until she nods slightly.

            "Yes, I do.  I think we're both ready to do this for real this time."  She's smiling at me now, and I can't help but mirror it.  Then she looks serious again.  "What—what are we going to tell everyone?  They'll think I'm taking advantage of you or something."  I can't help but chuckle at her fear.

            "Abby, I think they all know that we haven't quite gotten over each other.  Just ask Susan."  Her anxiety seems to ease at this, and I can't help reaching my hand up to touch her cheek.  The intensity of the connection between us makes us both jump as I do this.  I realize it's been a long, long time that I've been wanting to touch her in this way. 

            We stay there like that for a few minutes, just looking at each other.  I'm not sure exactly what she's thinking, but I also know I couldn't possibly explain the things going through my mind at this moment.  I want to kiss her, but I want to make sure that we do everything right this time and I'm not sure that now is the instant to do that.  She saves me the decision though, and leans forward.

            If I thought Abby used to take my breath away, that was nothing compared to what I feel when she kisses me now, on our bench.  It isn't intensely passionate, it doesn't last long, but it is the most amazing feeling having her lips on mine.  When she pulls away my eyes stay closed for just a split second, savoring her taste—coffee and vanilla, no nicotine.  If this is any indication of how things will be for us now, then I'm ready for it. 

            When I open my eyes I find hers gazing into mine.  She has a small smile on her lips and her eyes are more alive than I think I've ever seen them.  I smile too, and look away towards the river, embarrassed by the stupid grin that I'm sure is on my face.  We are silent for a moment, and then we are interrupted by the evil vibration of my pager.  I look down and see the number, grasping the urgency of the call.  When I glance up she catches my meaning and we stand to walk back to the hospital. 

            As we walk we don't speak, not wanting to break the spell.  But we do quietly grasp each other's hands, and occasionally look in the other's direction.  Each time I do this she laughs, looking away, those lively eyes dancing.

            If slow is what we need, slow is what I'll do.  I can't ever lose this woman again.      
 


	12. A First Date

**TITLE**  At the End of Chaos

**RATING**  PG-13

**SUMMARY**  Carter and Abby's "first date"…AWWW so cute!!

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**  I am going to try really hard to make this as sweet and unique as possible.  I love these characters—as you well know—and I think this "courtship" of theirs could be something that really makes us all warm and fuzzy.  So this date may take place in many parts, switching between the two characters' POVs.  But we'll see.

Thank you all so much for your continued reviews and kind words.  They make me so very happy!!

ABBY

So, I went against my better judgment and kissed him.  It wasn't something I planned, I just felt it in that moment and knew it was right.  I could see that he was struggling with whether to kiss me or not, so I decided to make it easy on him.  And boy, am I glad I did!  That kiss—the first time our lips had touched in a year and a half—was the most electrically charged few seconds of my life.  It was better than every other kiss I've ever had, including the first one Carter and I originally shared.  I see it as a hopeful sign of the things to come for us.

            After that meeting on the bench—"our bench", if you will—we went back to the ER, Carter went back to work, and I pored through some medical journals until about a half hour before my shift started.  That was when Carter came into the lounge, made a declaration of "Coffee?", and we went off to feed our only remaining addiction.

            Unfortunately, our little jaunt was interrupted by a 3 victim MVA, but before we were caught up in it Carter asked if I wanted to have dinner with him the following night.  Our first real date.  It was good that he asked me when he did, because following that MVA there was a string of traumas that came through, and before I had a chance to take a breath my shift was half over and Carter was finally able to leave his.  Our only goodbye was a quick nod and smile over the heads of everyone else in the trauma room I was in, working on what would end up being the last trauma of my shift.  I hadn't realized at the time that it was the last time I would see him until our date.  When I did acknowledge this fact, however, the butterflies started working their magic in my stomach, and they're still working inside me now, two hours to the agreed-upon meeting time of 8 o'clock, when he'll be here to pick me up.

            It's silly, really, that I'm so nervous.  I've known John Carter for almost 5 years.  We dated for more than a year, had sex, were as intimate as two people ever get.  Why should I now feel like a 16-year-old going out for the first time? 

            Maybe it's not so silly.  I mean, honestly, how well do I know him anymore?  So much has happened, and we've both changed.  Maybe we don't know each other at all anymore.  Maybe…maybe this is a mistake.

            No, it's not a mistake.  We still care about each other.  If love can survive all that has happened in our lives since we broke up, then surely it's worth trying this all again.  And we're doing it the right way this time, taking things slowly, dating in a way we never got to the first time around.  This is a good thing.  A really, really good thing.

            So, as I stand here in the shower, I take extra-special care shaving my legs and armpits, washing my body twice, making sure to thoroughly condition my hair.  I can't help but humming a tune while I go through these ministrations of cleanliness, and I chuckle when I realize what that tune is: "Afternoon Delight".  I always really liked that song. 

            I step carefully out of the tub, wrap a towel around my body, and squeeze the remaining moisture out of my hair before carefully wrapping a towel around my head.  I sit on the toilet seat and, grabbing the lotion that I have carefully selected for tonight—a jasmine scented cream that he always liked—I slather it over every inch of my body, ensuring that I will be soft until the end of time.  Next I floss and brush my teeth for an extra long time.  When I take my hair out of the towel, I smile at my reflection.  I got my hair done today, a shorter cut than what I've had in a while, just below my shoulders.  I also went back to having more brown in it, so that there are still blonde streaks but I can go back to considering myself brunette.  I liked the blonde, of course, and Carter did, too, but it was time for a change and I think I needed to see myself in that old way again.  I always kind of preferred the brown, anyway.

            I comb and blow dry my new 'do, then tackle the makeup.  Carter said this was a casual thing, so I don't want to be too done up, but I also want to look especially good for him.  For all intents and purposes this is stupid, as Carter has seen me first thing in the morning more times than I can count.  But if this is a new start, then I want to pretend that we've never woken up together and that this really is the first time we've gone out together.

            Having solved my makeup quandary, I slip on the jeans and black sweater I've chosen.  I put on the new pair of dangly earrings I bought just for tonight, which look splendid with my new hair.   I take one last look in the mirror before slipping on my boots, and smile.  I look really good, if I do say so myself.

            The one problem with all this is that I now realize it's only 7.  I was so anxious about being ready on time that I overshot and gave myself too much time to prepare.  What the hell am I going to do with myself for an hour?

            I start to pace absent-mindedly through my apartment, straightening things that don't need it, occasionally glancing at myself in different surfaces to make sure I do look as good as I had earlier believed.  This is confirmed each time, but as I glance at the clock a half hour later, the butterflies up the tempo of their flapping and suddenly I need to sit down.  These are the times I wished I still drank or smoked.

            Ten minutes later I'm drumming my fingers on the kitchen table when I hear a knock.  I glance at my watch, realizing that if this is Carter, he's twenty minutes early, and walk quickly over to the door. 

            I open it to find a sheepish Carter staring down the hallway to his right, not realizing that the door is now open into my apartment.  I notice that he's got a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and upon closer inspection I realize that they're dried flowers.  He hears the door open, and looks in my direction.

            "Hey," I say. 

            "Hey," he replies in surprise, and I see his eyes move over my new hair.

            "Do you want to come inside?" I ask, stepping away from the door to allow him entrance.

            "Sure," he says, walking into my apartment.  "I like your hair," he continues, handing me the bouquet, smiling.  This really is feeling like a first date so far, I think to myself.  I think we're going to be okay.

            "Thank you," I say.  I don't want to tell him that though I still have a penchant for the morbid beauty of dried flowers, live ones are nice, too.  I quickly remove the lilies I have sitting on the kitchen table and place the new dried flowers in the vase, hoping he doesn't notice.  As I look up at him, I see that he's looking around at my apartment, and hasn't seen the exchange.  I throw the lilies into the trash, and walk over to where he's standing.

            "You ready to go?" he asks.  I nod, grab my purse, and we head out.

            "Were you anxious to see me?" I ask as we sit down at the table in the small Italian restaurant tucked away in a secret corner of Chicago.  As he takes his own seat he looks at me quizzically.  I chuckle.  "You were twenty minutes early picking me up," I say in response to his unasked question.

            "Oh," he says, blushing.  He clears his throat.  "To be honest, I've been thinking about this all day, and after doing everything I could to put off picking you up, I just decided to come on over."  He pauses, something occurring to him.  "And you seemed pretty ready to go when I got there," he says, winking at me and smiling.  Now it's my turn to blush, though I try to hide it behind the large menu.

            "Yeah, I was."  For a second I consider hiding my own anticipation, but then I realize that these kinds of things were what got us into trouble the first time around.  "I gave myself too much time to get ready.  I'd been sitting around, doing nothing but waiting, since 7."  I smile back at him as he laughs gently.  This feels okay so far.  We're acknowledging an excitement to spend time with one another.  That's almost like admitting we're still in love with each other. 

            "Benvuto, welcome," our waiter says, approaching the table.  "How are we doing this evening?"

            "Very good, thank you Signor," Carter replies. 

            "Can I start you off with anything to drink?"  Carter looks at me, questioning.  He's wondering if he should just order for the both of us, as he used to do.  But I contend, in my own mind, that this **is** a first date, and on a first date the guy would not know what the girl would want.  So I step in.

            "I'll have a water please.  With lemon," I reply, and wink at Carter.  It's funny how I think he actually knows why I just did what I did.

            "Same here."

            "All right, benissimo.  I will return shortly with your drinks and will take your order," the rotund waiter says, walking away from the table.

            We both briefly peruse the menu, discussing the different options and deciding, as is pretty typical of us, that we want the same thing.  However, in honor of our new beginning, I'm thinking of doing something different.

            "Okay, how about this: we'll order different things, but share them.  Maybe try something we've never had before.  What do you think?"

            "Sounds like a great idea.  What haven't you tried?"

            "Um…you know, I've never had Calamari.  That's octopus, right?"  Carter shrivels his nose at this.

            "No, it's squid, and…EW," he replies, pretending to retch.  I laugh at his antics.

            "Okay, okay.  No squid.  How about…the clams and lemon garlic pasta?" 

            "I think I can handle that.  I don't think I've ever had it before."  He nods, folding his menu and placing it down on the table as the waiter returns with our waters.

            "Have you decided?" he asks.

            "Yes, we have.  We will have the clams with lemon garlic pasta, and the lasagna."  Carter does take over ordering here, but as we've discussed our options I decide it's okay. 

            The waiter nods as he writes down the order, smiles at us, and leaves.  And now we are left to each other.

            "So…" Carter says, running his finger over the top of his water glass.

            "So…?" I reply, smiling at him and raising my eyebrows.

            "So…this is nice.  Us, here.  Alone."  He's smiling, but I can sense the serious undertone to his words.

            "Yeah.  It is." 

            "But, this is the hard part, isn't it?  Finding a way to have a casual conversation as if we don't know each other when really we know so much about each other."

            "Uh-huh," I say, laughing, because that's exactly what I was thinking.

            "Well, okay.  Let's start this off easily: what are your plans for Christmas?"

            "I'm not sure yet.  I think since I got Thanksgiving off that I'll probably have to work, so I told my mom that she and Eric should come here again.  That I might get a tree and make it a real Christmas."

            "That sounds nice."  He suddenly becomes grim, and takes a drink from his glass, not meeting my gaze.

            "Christmas is going to be really hard this year for you, isn't it?"  I ask quietly.

            "Yeah, I think so.  I think I can get through it all right, especially after therapy and everything, but—"

            "What?  Therapy?"  I almost tip over my glass at this revelation.  Despite his sadness, Carter smiles at my shock.

            "I've been going to Dr. Thatcher for a few months now.  It's really helped me a lot."  I reach over and touch his hand, squeezing it.  I'm not even sure how to express how proud I am in this moment.  "That, and having such great friends," he continues, smiling at me.

            "It's nothing, John, really.  After everything you've helped me get through, it's the least I could do."  Now it's my turn to be serious as I draw my hand back to my side of the table.  "And after…not being there for you when your grandmother died—"

            "Oh, Abby.  There's nothing you could have done about that.  And besides, I pushed you away when you tried to help me.  That wasn't your fault."  This time he reaches out and grabs my hand.

            "I know it wasn't.  But that doesn't mean that I don't regret things not being different.  You seemed so alone during all that.  And I could have stayed, even after you told me to leave.  It was just…you know, after everything that happened, it felt easier to just walk away rather than have to face your anger at me."  I feel his thumb stroking the back of my hand, which helps the ball that has lodged itself in my throat.  I hadn't realized until now that my eyes were glistening.  I have kept this all bottled up inside of me for so long that I had forgotten it was there.  I smile at the comfort of his touch, and finally allow myself to make eye contact with him again.  When I meet his eyes, they show nothing but warmth and love. 

            "Abby, I've already told you that I wasn't angry at you.  All the things that happened, what I was feeling, was about me.  And especially about what I couldn't make work about us."  He pauses, treading carefully.  "Let's face it: we both had a lot of things preventing us from being 100% **with** each other, you know?  I'm realizing now that time apart may be exactly what we needed in order for us to be able to give each other what we need.  Because you know neither one of us was doing that before."  His honesty floors me, and for a second I can't speak.  I'm convinced that if I could see myself I would see that my jaw has dropped to the floor and drool is dripping down my chin.  This is definitely a new Carter sitting in front of me.  And what I owe him is to be the new Abby, the one who can be just as open as he's being with me right now.

            "You're absolutely right.  It's almost funny; we were both always blaming ourselves for what was wrong in our relationship.  I kept waiting for you to get sick of me, to not want to deal with all the things I deal with on a daily basis.  And you always thought that you just weren't good enough to make me happy."  He nods in agreement, and then we're smiling at each other.  This conversation will, in years to come, play over and over in my head as the most monumental, ground-breaking conversation of my life.  Carter and I, for the first time I think ever, are actually telling each other exactly what is going through our minds.  This is huge.

            Now, I don't want to get ahead of myself, but I think this may be it.  I think this may be the time that we both get it right.  And as we sit here at dinner, gazing into each other's eyes (something I really thought only happened in the movies), I feel like I really could have everything some day.  I see it behind his pupils: our wedding, our kids, our house in the suburbs; everything we've both ever dreamed of.  And I've never been the kind of girl who dreamed of those things in that way.  But that's the thing about Carter: he's always inspired in me things I never thought possible.  Things that, for all intents and purposes, make no sense in my world.

            And **that** is why I love him.


	13. Good Night

**TITLE**  At the End of Chaos

**RATING** PG-13

**SUMMARY**  Carter and Abby's first date; from Carter's POV

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**  Sorry this has taken so long; I've been busy with many different things.  But I'm hoping I can get back in the swing now.  There probably isn't too much left for me to write of this one.

**DISCLAIMER** I don't own carby, but if I did, we all wouldn't be so damned depressed…LOL

CARTER

I am dumbstruck by the change in our relationship.  We are finally being honest with each other; no feelings hidden, no fog and mirrors, just John and Abby and our feelings for each other.  Brought here to this table at Antonio's, over clam and linguine and lasagna.  It feels great.

            We spend most of dinner after that initial conversation in silence, smiling at each other in that goofy way you think only people in the movies do.  We order the tiramisu, a coffee-flavored dessert that is so inexplicably appropriate for us.  I pay the check, and we decide to walk.  I take Abby's perfect hand in mine as we saunter out the door, and we begin in silence, meandering a ways before the conversation starts to flow.

            "So…wow…graduation must have been pretty amazing," I start, realizing we've never officially talked about this. 

            "Yeah, it really was.  I almost didn't go, but at the last minute I decided to get over myself and celebrate what I'd finally accomplished."  She looks out across the street and around at the buildings surrounding us.  "It was nice…Susan and Luka, Sam and Alex and her ex were there."

            "Maggie and Eric?"

            "No.  I just…I didn't tell them that I was even back in school until that day.  I definitely feel more positive about things, and I'm glad that I've done what I've done.  But part of me just worried that if they knew, it would somehow ruin it.  So I waited and called Maggie that day to tell her I'd graduated."  She looks over at me, smiling, embarrassed.  "I guess old habits die hard."

            "Oh, I think you had every right to handle things the way you did.  And hey, you made up for it by having them here for Thanksgiving."  I smile at her reassuringly.  I notice a small shiver run down her spine, which she tries to hide.  "You cold?"

            "Uh…yeah, I am, a little." 

            "Well, let's get back to the car, then.  I'll take you home."  I rub her hand in mine as we turn around, heading back to my jeep. 

            "Are you sure?  I don't want to end our night early just because I'm a wimp," she says, laughing. 

            "It's fine.  We'll have other nights, right?"  I look at her expectantly. 

            "Oh, you expect a second date?"  Her eyes dance with her joking.

            "Well, I was hoping the lady would oblige me…"  I say, bowing my head slightly as we approach the passenger side door to my car. 

            "We'll have to see," she replies, and gets into the car.     

            "And what can I do to earn this second date?" I say, before closing her door.

            "I said we'll have to see," she responds, pulling the door closed and out of my hands.  And with that I walk to my side of the car and get in.

            As soon as the car is started, she reaches over and begins playing with the radio dial, something I'd forgotten was a habit of hers that I loved to hate.  But in the spirit of our "first date", I decide to end her game.

            "Uh-uh-uh, Dr. Lockhart.  I don't recommend messing with a man's radio in his car on a first date.  That's a good way to ensure no second date."  She pulls her hand to her mouth, startled, and I laugh.

            "Oh!  I forgot.  I'm sorry!"  I reach over and pat her knee.

            "It's okay, I'll forgive you this time.  But **don't** do it again," I reply, shaking my finger at her. 

            "I won't, I promise," she says, smirking back at me.  She raises her fingers in the air in a classic salute.  "Scout's honor."  And with that, I change the station back to what I was listening to in the first place, and Abby sits back in her seat, watching Chicago pass by her window.

            It doesn't take long to get to her apartment from the restaurant, and before long I am parking the car outside.  I put it into gear, and wonder momentarily if I should turn the car off or leave it running, not knowing how long I'll be here.  I glance over at Abby, who, arms crossed, simply looks over at me.  She smiles, but I detect nothing behind her eyes, so I open my door, head over to hers and open it for her.  She steps out and we walk casually up the stairs leading to the door to her building.  We pause at the top, Abby holding her keys in her hand, both of us feeling the electricity in this moment.  I catch her eyes with mine, and reach my hand up to graze her cheek with the back of my fingers.  She closes her eyes at this sensation, and then my hand is moving the hair from her neck and my lips are making a slow descent to hers.  I taste that vanilla and coffee again—this time from the tiramisu—and I can't help but get lost in her.  I open my eyes briefly to watch her kissing me, to step outside the moment and see things the way others see them, but then she is moving her tongue into my mouth and I have to close my eyes again or risk losing my balance. 

            The kiss seems to last forever, when in reality it was probably no more than 10 seconds.  When our lips separate I feel immediately cold again, longing for her mouth on mine.  I can tell she feels the same, but we are trying to keep this somewhat chaste for now.  She kisses me quickly again, and then moves to open the door.  After it's unlocked, she says quietly, "Good night, John," and then is gone up the stairs to sleep in her own bed without me.  I know that I will now spend all night wishing she were sleeping beside me, wanting nothing more than to have her in my arms. 

            And **that** is why I love her.


	14. I hope it never ends

**TITLE** At the End of Chaos

**RATING** R…I guess…just in case you're sensitive LOL

**SUMMARY** It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas…..

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** Again, I can't thank y'all enough for the great reviews. I apologize for making you wait for this chapter…And here's the thing: I've never written anything quite like this before. It's a little….naughty, shall we say? So I'm a little embarrassed, and I considered revising it to not include the smut, but then I said, what the Hell? We all need a little smut sometimes, right?

**DISCLAIMER** I don't own them, blah blah blah…

ABBY

"Carter, watch the—be careful! Don't hit your—do you want any help?" I ask, finally, as Carter makes his way up my stairs with my perfect Christmas tree. It's a little larger than I probably should have gotten, but it was so pretty and perfectly shaped and just…immaculate. I couldn't help myself. But I think Carter is silently cursing me as he struggles to make his way into my apartment with it.

"No, I'm fine," he responds, trying to sound chipper, but I sense the frustration underlying the statement. I can't help but giggle, though, cause I just love my tree.

A few minutes later, we're standing in my living room, my tree in it's designated corner by the window. Actually, I'm standing, but Carter is bending over, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. I can't help but laugh at him; he was always so melodramatic about such things.

"Would you like some coffee?" I ask in sympathy; he **did** just carry my tree up a flight of stairs.

"Please," he replies, and throws himself into a chair at the kitchen table. After starting the coffee, I move to stand behind him and begin to rub his shoulders. He leans his head forward, loving the feeling of my hands easing the tension in his muscles, and I smile to myself. This is the good stuff, right here.

The smell of coffee winds its way into our nostrils, and I pat his shoulders once, moving away to pour us some caffeine, eliciting a groan from Carter. It's still early evening, but it's December and it's already almost completely dark outside. It's a Christmas miracle that we're both off tonight, but I suppose that's Kerry's way of setting us up for working on Christmas or Christmas Eve, which is only 8 days away. I had decided it was the perfect fifth date for us; the pretense of not having known each other before was wearing thin, and it was time for us to have an "apartment date", alone, away from the public. And besides, I needed help with my tree.

"What would you like to do about dinner?" Carter asks as I hand him his mug. I shrug in response, seating myself next to him, glancing over at my tree. He follows my gaze, then turns back to me. "Would you like to eat your tree?"

"Hm?" A second later, I catch what he's said, and adjust my eyes to look at him. I roll my eyes. "No, Carter, I do not want to eat my tree. Ha ha. I don't really know what I want for dinner. I'm not in the mood for anything in particular. Did you have a craving for something?"

"Yes!" he responds emphatically, making me jump slightly, which provokes a chortle from him. I swat at him. "I've really been wanting those dumplings from Ming's." I make a face, and he raises his eyebrows. "What? You no like?" I shrug again.

"It's just…is that really 'tree-decorating' fare?"

"Would you rather—I don't know—Nordic food?" This makes us both laugh out loud.

"I guess Ming's is fine." I sigh quickly, looking into my coffee cup.

"Abby, we can have whatever you want. I promise I don't care too much." He tilts my chin up to look at him. He is smiling reassuringly.

"I just—it's actually very silly," I say, not wanting him to know what a nerd I am.

"What is it?"

"I guess—I want everything to be perfect. The tree, the decorations, the music, even the food we eat while we trim the tree." I look at my coffee again, becoming embarrassed. I'm beginning to think "tough, cynical Abby" has disappeared altogether.

"Abby, that's not silly at all," Carter says, quietly. I look up to meet his eyes, smiling so sweetly at me. Then he leans in to kiss me, and suddenly I don't care what we eat for dinner, I just don't ever want this to stop.

After what seems like hours but is really only a few seconds he pulls away, leaving my lips wanting nothing but more. He very tenderly traces my jaw with his fingers, sweeping my hair behind my ear, my skin tingling wherever he has touched me. He brings his hand down to the table, taking my hand in his. And again we are sitting, staring stupidly at each other, silently sipping at the moments we are sharing. Shyly, I disturb the peace.

"Chinese?" We both laugh at this, and after a swift brush of lips, Carter rises to get the menu.

AN HOUR and a half later, sitting on the couch, take out boxes scattered on the coffee table, we delight in our engorgement of greasy food. I glance over at Carter, who is popping the last dumpling into his mouth, and giggle. He notices me, and raises his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Nothing. You just…nothing," I say, brushing a piece of rice from my shirt.

"Oh, I see how it is. That's fine, Dr. Lockhart, you can be coy if you want, but I know your game," he says, winking at me, licking his lips.

"Oh you do, do you?"

"Yes, and unfortunately, I don't play fair," he responds, and lunges across the couch at me, catching my ribs with his fingers and tickling me. I'm laughing so hard I'm starting to cry, tears are running down my face, and I can't fight back. Finally my foot finds his stomach and kicks, knocking the wind out of him, and he falls backwards. A look of shock plants itself on his face.

"Carter? Are you okay?" I'm still laughing a little, and I'm wiping the tears from my cheeks as I move slowly towards him. He's clutching his stomach and gasping for air.

"I'm…fine," he replies, straining to get the words out. I feel bad; I didn't mean to kick him that hard.

"Oh, John, I'm so sorry." I put my hand on his chest, kissing his forehead; I can't hide that I'm still chuckling. "But hey, you're lucky it wasn't about 8 inches lower, right?" He rolls his eyes at me, finally getting a full breath.

"That'll teach me to tickle you, huh?" His voice is still slightly tired, but he's smiling again. No harm done.

"Sure will. Now, let's get this tree trimmed, huh? 'Charlie Brown Christmas' should be on channel 4."

AFTER MUCH hard work, our piece of art—my Christmas tree—is finished, and we're curled up on the couch gazing at it. The lights cast a magical glow over the room, and I can see the snow starting to fall outside the window. I'm resting my head on John's shoulder, his arm around me, and all I can think is: this is perfect. This is exactly how things should be. Except, maybe I'd add a couple of kids to the mix, and make the apartment bigger. But, really, this is faultless. I sigh contentedly.

"You okay?" Carter asks, and I feel his head move to glance down at me. I smile against his shoulder.

"I'm more than okay." I run my hand over his chest, and he takes it in his own and holds it over his heart, entwining our fingers. I feel something stir inside me, and I lift my head from his shoulder and turn his face toward mine. I stare deep into the chocolate brown depths of his eyes, and then lean in to kiss him. The kiss this time is a question, a wanting, and I'm hoping he feels it as much as I do. At first it is sweet, kind, but then it deepens and grows and I move my tongue into his mouth. He moves his hand up to my hair, my neck, and I shift so that I am straddling his lap, never breaking the union of our lips. I feel his hands move down my body, over my back, caressing each vertebra, then moving back up to embed themselves in my hair. My hands remain on his chest, steadying myself. This feels so good, I don't ever, ever want it to—

"Abby?" I'm confused at first; I was so lost in the world of desire that I didn't notice that he had pulled his mouth away from mine. I open my eyes and find his locked in my sight. I almost whimper at the disruption, but withhold the impulse.

"Mm-hmm?" I respond, as yet unable to produce words.

"I really hate to interrupt this, but I just—want to make sure we're not moving too fast." Well, this is new; John Carter, leashing his impulsivity. I don't know whether to praise or damn his therapist as I feel the pulsing in my body that only wants to throw Carter down on the bed and rock his world. But he's looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes, and I can't be angry.

"John, it's up to you. If you feel okay with this, then I am, too." I swallow hard, hoping his response is in the positive. "I—want this. I don't think it's too fast. For me. But it's up to you." His hands have fallen to my hips, something I hadn't noticed before now, but I do notice as they move their way up my arms, and as I watch his face, a small smile works his way onto his lips. He doesn't speak, just slowly nods, leaning forward, and placing his lips on my collarbone. His hands are on my back again, pulling me toward him, and my face is in his hair, smelling his shampoo, his cologne. I tilt my head slightly, giving him better access to my neck, which he is inching his way up with light kisses.

"Mmmm," I murmur, encouraging him. He extends his tongue, licking at my earlobe, gently taking it into his mouth and suckling it. I inadvertently curl my fingers, scratching at his chest, his nipples, which are hardening beneath his shirt. I move my head back towards him, catching his lips with my own, snaking my tongue into his mouth. I take his face in my hands, feeling the strong curve of his jaw, the little bit of stubble that has grown since this morning.

The urge to make this go faster is at war with the need to go slowly, to make every touch linger. I can tell he feels it too, as his hands alternate between moving fast and slow, fighting the compulsion to tear my shirt over my head. Finally I can't wait anymore, and the feeling of his erection between my legs becomes too much; I remove my lips from his and slowly disengage myself from his embrace. He whines softly when I do this, until I smile at him and take his hands, lifting him from the couch. I silently lead him toward the bedroom, anticipation pounding in my ears like drums at the circus.

Standing in front of my bed, facing each other, his hands reach behind me, lifting my shirt up over my arms and away from my body, dropping it softly on the floor. He moves in again to kiss me, and the feel of his hands on my bare skin causes a shudder to ripple through me. In turn, I remove his shirt and drop it next to mine. I run my fingers lightly over his chest and stomach, up to his shoulders, looking into his eyes, smiling at him. Before I can react, I feel him lifting me up and putting me down on the bed, somewhere between gentle and rough. He kisses me in the same way, while his hand unbuttons my jeans, moving underneath to where I am wet and ready to feel him inside me.

A gasp escapes my lips when I feel his fingers slip beneath my panties, and I grip his shoulders tightly. His lips and tongue burn a path to my breasts while his fingers move through my folds, making slow circles over my button, then moving away.

"Oh, God," I moan, as I feel his tongue trace the outline of my nipple. I can feel an orgasm building, but I don't want it yet, I want to make this last, and I decide to take control. I gently—but roughly—take his hand out from between my legs and push him down on to his back. He looks slightly bewildered, but he remembers this, this is not altogether unfamiliar to him. I unbutton and remove his jeans and boxers, he lifting his hips to help me. As I do this, his hand reaches behind me and unclasps my bra, and once his clothes are off I let him take it off. We kneel facing each other, touching each other, kissing. I am suddenly aware that I am still partly dressed, and I lay down and let him eliminate the last of my clothing. He moves on top of me, and feeling the length of our naked bodies touching is almost too much, I almost climax then and there. He senses this, and gently parts my legs with his knees, placing himself between them.

Our eyes are locked as he enters me, and I can't help emitting a low groan as I feel him move inside. His head dips to kiss me as he begins to shift back and forth, in and out, and I move my legs up to hook around his back, my heels on his butt, urging him deeper.

Our movements quicken, our pulses racing, as I feel the climax building once again. I can tell that he's getting there too, and in the pattern of old lovers, we try to time our peaks. John slows his movements, making circles with his hips, making me cry out. He soon resumes his rocking in and out, and before long we are both screaming, our nerves all alive with our orgasm. When we are finished, sweaty and emptied, we curl together on the bed, smiling. I feel him behind me, his arm wrapped around me, our legs entwined.

And I can't help thinking: this is perfect. I don't ever want it to end.


	15. I love you

**TITLE** At the End of Chaos

**RATING** PG-13

**SUMMARY** Carter's POV…ah, love…

**DISCLAIMER** I don't own them, blah blah blah…

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** Again, continued thanks for the awesome reviews! And thanks for being so kind about my smut…I really was embarrassed, but now that's out there, I'm feeling okay about it. LOL

CARTER

I awake slowly, peacefully, sensing a calm surrounding me, encasing me in warmth. As my eyes open, I see nothing in front of my eyes but hair, brown, with highlights of blonde. I take a deep breath, smelling shampoo and jasmine.

All my senses arouse, feeling in my hands warm, smooth skin, hearing the stillness of the middle of the night. I feel a yawn come over me, and I stifle it with my hand. As I move it from Abby's body she shifts slightly, but remains asleep, back to my chest. We are wrapped here in her bed, under the covers, sheltered from the deep cold of December.

I move onto my elbow, just high enough to be able to watch her sleeping. She is so peaceful, a small smile lighting her face even in slumber. I wonder momentarily if she is dreaming of me. I can't help but reach out and make a soft path on her arm with my fingertips; being here with her is so unreal that I need the physical reminder that it's actually happening. A few months ago I could never have imagined myself back in this place, Abby asleep beside me after making love.

I don't think I could possibly be happier.

A year ago, I thought the same thing, a world away, with a different woman. But I was a broken man then, and I was ready to hold onto anything. Just like any addict, I grabbed onto anything that helped to ease the pain of my suffering, to distract me from what was really wrong, and Kem and our child became my new addiction.

I've had numerous conversations with Dr. Thatcher about this, owning up to the mistakes I've made. I've never been very good about that. Instead of forgiving myself for whatever actions of mine that led to Lucy's death, I escaped into the bottle of pills. And instead of dealing with my guilt about ignoring Gamma just before her death, I escaped to Africa, ran away from Abby, and fell into the arms of a woman who knew nothing about me and wouldn't require me to heal. In the process, I hurt Kem, hurt Abby, and ended up getting hurt more myself.

But I feel now, in this moment, more than ever, that I'm really going to be okay. Abby and I, we've both grown, accepted our own faults, and I think we're really ready to be together. Am I sure of this? No. But what in life are we ever really sure of? What I am sure of is the feel of her next to me, the smell of her hair, the taste of her on my lips. The sound of her breathing. These are facts I cannot escape. More than that, I do not want to escape them.

"I love you, Abby," I whisper softly, close enough to her ear that I see the hair move slightly with my breath. I kiss her lightly on the cheek, and lay back down, my chest pressed against her back.

I am closing my eyes, about to drift back into sleep, when I hear her voice.

"I love you too," she says, and my eyes burst back open. Did I just imagine that? Did she say that in her sleep? Am I dreaming? In response, I feel her turn around in my arms and face me. Her face is serious now, her eyes deeper and more passionate than I've ever seen them before. I am speechless.

"Wh-what did you say?" is all I can manage. I search her face with my eyes. She smiles at my shock, then kisses me sweetly.

"I said I love you," she replies. I have no idea how to react to this. She has just uttered words I had once thought I would never hear her say, and it has completely stunned me.

But Abby, in her usual way, knows exactly what to do. She kisses me again, this time more deeply, and begins to make love to me. She moves beneath me, and as our bodies dance together, I can only think: this is perfect. I don't ever want it to end.


	16. Christmas

**TITLE** At the End of Chaos

**CHAPTER** Christmas

**SUMMARY** Abby's POV Ah, Christmas…Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells!! "But, Abby; you're all I'm ever going to want. I've been engaged to you ever since I first kissed you, whether you had a ring on your finger or not."

**DISCLAIMER** I don't own anything: Christmas, ER, Carby, nothin'!! I just love 'em!

ABBY

Christmas. What can I say? The holiday of children, of dreams, of answered wishes. Not necessarily the perspective I have had in the past, but I have to contend that, as I look around at the ER on this holiday of light (or is that Hanukkah?), all I see is joy.

Okay, yeah; that, and about 12 screaming children.

"What are you so happy about?" I hear the voice of Susan approach behind me. She sounds significantly less cheerful than I feel. I can understand this, though, considering that this is the first Christmas for her with her daughter and she is spending it here.

"I don't know. Angels, Santa, the Christ child; it all seems worthy of happiness to me," I reply, throwing her a smirk. Her answer is a scowl as she stalks off to exam 1 to what will hopefully be her last patient. After a contented sigh and another look around, I pick up a chart and float to my next patient.

"YOU OFF?" I ASK Susan as she enters the break room.

"Yeah, and not in the least bit soon enough," she replies. The sun fell beyond the horizon about 3 hours ago, and I am eating my long-awaited and very rushed dinner. "When are you off?" she asks, wrestling her scarf out of her locker.

"At midnight." I glance at my watch. "If I get to leave on time, I should be out of here in about 4 hours."

"And what are you going to be doing tonight?" She says this with a sense of knowing; she is the only one in the ER who knows that Carter and I are back together. It's been pretty amazing how we've been able to hide it, but everyone's been so caught up in holiday craziness that they haven't been concerned with our peaceful little world.

"Carter and I are supposed to be exchanging gifts at my place when I get out. I don't know if he'll really be up for it, though; he just finished a twelve hour shift at 7, so he may very well be sleeping." I take another bite of my lasagna. "What about you?"

"Well, my baby girl should be asleep right now, so perhaps Chuck and I can get in some alone time exchanging gifts and amorous advances." I wince slightly when she says this. Somehow the idea of Chuck doing anything but sleeping in the bedroom has always kind of irked me. "But, if tonight is like all other nights," she continues with a sigh, "we'll get a quick kiss on the lips and then she'll start crying and the cycle will begin again."

"I'm sorry mommy," I respond with compassion.

"It's okay," she says, sighing again. "When she's 18 I'll be able to have sex again." She smiles and I laugh. With a wave, she walks out the door, and I quickly finish my dinner. Then I reenter the world of sick people.

"CARTER, I'M home," I say, closing my apartment door behind me. I managed to leave only 45 minutes later than planned, so I'm hoping I haven't ruined anything. As I take a few steps into my apartment, I see the glow of the tree and the flickering of candles coming from the kitchen. He's set the table for a romantic dinner for two, and I can see he's made my favorite: Chicken Francese, with a side of rice and asparagus.

"Can I take the lady's coat?" I hear him quietly in my ear as his hands slowly remove my coat. His voice is low and deep, sending a thrill of shivers up my spine. It makes me smile, as always.

Once my coat is removed, I turn to greet him, and after he has hung it up he wraps me in his arms and kisses me. It's only been 6 hours since I've seen him, but I've missed him so much. If we could manage it—and we probably could, because he has plenty of money—I think I could be content to spend all day, every day just kissing him.

"I missed you," I tell him. One of those things that I would have kept to myself before for fear of being hurt. But no more.

"Mmm…I missed you too," he responds, kissing me once more before leading me to my seat at the table. He places my napkin across my lap and sits in his own chair. I delicately slice into my chicken and take the first bite.

"Oh, John, this is so good," I say, through my food.

"I'm glad you like it," he answers, taking his own bite and smiling. "I knew you'd appreciate this after a week of frozen meals."

"Oh, do I ever!" I exclaim, and try very hard to not devour the plateful in a matter of seconds.

I do manage to eat the remainder of the meal like a lady. I politely blot my lips with my napkin and set it beside my plate, but before I know what is happening a small burp escapes my lips. My hand flies to my mouth and my eyes become large saucers as Carter just laughs at me.

"I knew you couldn't keep it up forever," he says, unable to stop laughing.

"Oh, whatever, Mr. Manners. In some cultures burping is a sign of appreciation for good food. You should take it as a compliment."

"I do, Miss Lockhart. I do." And then he's looking at me very intensely.

"John? What is—" But he kisses me and I understand. The man even loves me when I burp. How could I not be the luckiest girl in the world?

We clean up quickly and then go to sit on the couch to open gifts. The selection is somewhat scarce, as we set a limit on spending for the holiday, and it had to be based on my salary, which is considerably less than his. Neither one of us cares that much about the material gifts anyway; now that we're back together, we have all we could ask for.

The gift-exchanging process doesn't last very long, though it is interspersed with long kisses and thank yous. I get a sweater and a bath set from John. He receives a new watch and a pen set from me. He has also given me a gift certificate to his garage to fix the transmission on my car, which I protest about; unfortunately, he shushes me with kisses and I can't argue with that. But it's okay, anyway; I have something I know is more priceless than anything he has to give me.

"John, I have one more thing to give you," I say, getting up to retrieve it from my bureau drawer.

"Abby, you already exceeded your limit. Anything more you give me will have to be returned," he yells, but I see he is smiling as I come back into the room. I mean come on, he's a spoiled rich kid; he's never going to complain about one more gift.

"Well, this one didn't cost me very much, so I think it'll be okay." I sit down next to him and hand him the small white box with a bow on top. He looks up at me, still smiling, then removes the top of the box. Inside sits a key ring from the National History Museum with the words "Where History Repeats Itself" written on it. On the key ring is a key that has been burning a hole in my underwear drawer for more than a year.

"Is this…?" he asks quietly. I nod in reply. I don't know why this makes me feel so vulnerable. Essentially I've already done this, in a figurative way, but I guess this feels like the biggest confession of something done wrong, and that's why it scares me. "Abby, I don't know what to say. I guess…Thank you," he says, and then hugs me so hard I think he might break a few ribs. As he pulls away I feel the smile that has broken out on my face, and he greets me with one of his own as I see his eyes meet mine. We do that staring-at-each-other thing for a few minutes, then he surprises me by speaking. "I actually have something else for you, too."

"Carter, I already know you've broken the spending rule, so don't try to give me anything else, please." He's getting something from under the sink, and as he comes back out to the couch he's got a large box in his hands.

"This didn't actually cost me anything, so I think we're okay," he replies, setting the box in my lap. He's grinning like an idiot, which makes me wonder what could possibly be inside. I slowly untie the ribbon, and carefully unwrap the paper, and take the top off the box. Inside is…another box. What the…? I look up at Carter and he apparently thinks this is the funniest joke ever because he's laughing to himself at my confusion. "Go on, keep going," he says, pushing the box a little.

"All right, all right," I reply, pulling out the second box. I take the top off this one to find…another damn box. "Carter—" I start, but he cuts me off. This was funny for, like, five seconds.

"Just keep going, Abby. I promise it'll be worth it." So I continue, and inside this box is another box. I'm trying really hard to not kill him right now, but I figure if I do that I won't ever find out what's in here because then the police would be here and I'd be arrested and this would probably be confiscated as evidence.

So I refrain from murder.

I open up two more boxes until I am down to one that is…well, it's ring-sized. And I glance up at Carter and then back down, and I open this last box and inside is the ring box that I remember falling out of his coat pocket almost two years ago. I can't even open it, all I can do is glance between it and Carter until eventually words come out of my mouth.

"John, I—I don't know what to say." I see that his face has fallen and I realize that perhaps my tone was expressing more of my shock than I had thought. "I just—I mean, a week ago you didn't know if we were ready to be having sex, and now you're proposing?"

"I'm not really proposing. Giving you this was more a way of saying that this is what I want for us. I mean, we aren't even living together, so I don't expect that we should be planning a wedding. But, Abby; you're all I'm ever going to want. I've been engaged to you ever since I first kissed you, whether you had a ring on your finger or not." He pauses, swallowing, and I feel a familiar pricking behind my eyes. "I'm giving you this now so that you know that someday—hopefully sooner rather than later—I want you to wear this on your finger. If you're not—if we're not—ready now, then that's okay. But I've let too much time slip by without you, and I don't want to do that anymore." He meets my gaze again, and I can see that his eyes are glistening, too. He's uncertain about my response, I can tell. I lean over, knocking the many boxes out of my way, and kiss him in a way that I hope gives him all the answers he needs. I don't want him to be scared of me anymore. I break away from his lips very briefly, only to utter a few words I want him to hear.

"I'm ready whenever you are," I say, smiling, and then we fall back on the couch together, to consummate the deal.


	17. Nightmares and Baggage

**TITLE** At the End of Chaos

**CHAPTER** The Healing Never Ends

**SUMMARY** It's the day after Christmas. Carter's POV

**DISCLAIMER** Once again: I don't own anything. Seriously. You can search me if you want, but you won't find anything on me!

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** I'm incredibly sorry that it has taken me so long to update. The new season started and my life got crazy and I guess it didn't seem as important to write since there was completely different stuff happening on the show. BUT—I decided to re-flex my writing muscles in anticipation of the Carby Holiday Fic Exchange on c&p. So here ya go!!

CARTER

The snow falling outside is like a dream you had once as a kid about what Christmas really is. I half expect to hear Santa's sleigh passing overhead, except that it's no longer Christmas and Santa doesn't actually exist.

I awoke a half hour ago in a cold sweat. Part of that, I'm sure, is because of the fact that Abby's apartment is freezing and she had stolen most of the covers. She always does that; it's probably my number one pet peeve about her. Soon I'll have to just have my own set of blankets while I'm here.

But the other reason is because I had this dream, one I haven't had in a while. I started having them every night after Kem left, and then, after therapy and time, they pretty much went away. I thought maybe I was rid of them, that now that I'm pretty much past the really bad part, I can be done with nightmares of crying babies and women who speak my name but aren't really there.

I have no idea what caused this tonight. I had just basically re-proposed to Abby in her living room on one of the most perfect Christmasses of my life. We were so happy as we fell asleep, realizing that this is it; this is going to be the time that really, really sticks. I felt complete, a feeling I thought I had had before but now realize wasn't genuine until tonight.

So I sit here now, at some stark hour of the night, gazing out a cold window into a perfect Christmas world. I just keep trying to pinpoint exactly what it is I'm feeling, why something doesn't feel right, why I can't wrap my mind around that dream.

And then I realize: I feel guilty.

Here I am, 6 months after the death of my son, the end of my relationship with Kem, and I'm acting almost as if it never happened. I find myself wondering if that's okay. I also find myself thinking, what if he hadn't died? What if he'd been okay? I would've stayed with Kem, we would've had that life. I would never have gotten Abby back.

I would not have been happy. Or, should I say, **as** happy.

So, what is it? Am I glad he died? Of course I'm not glad he died; it's something else. It's…gosh, I guess a realization that things happen for a reason. Sometimes one thing has to die for something else to be reborn. I'm a doctor, I see this happen all the time. One person is in an accident and is left brain dead. We take organs from that person and give other people new life. A life they wouldn't have had if someone else hadn't lost theirs.

Lost in thought, a million miles away, I am brought back by the feeling of warm lips on my neck and arms wrapping around my shoulders.

"Hey," I hear her whisper from behind me. I pull her hands in mine and bring her around in front of me to rest on my lap. Once she's settled, her arms around my neck again, I kiss her forehead.

"Hey," I respond. Our foreheads rest against each other.

"What are you doing up? I missed you in there."

"I, uh," I start, not knowing whether to bring her into all this. But then I know: if this will work for forever, I have no choice. "I had a bad dream." I chuckle slightly at this, realizing how childish I sound.  
"Really? What about?" Concern etches her forehead.

"It was…one of the old ones. About Kem and the baby." She brings her hand to my face, stroking my cheek. "I don't know…I didn't know why it was coming back again. I had to come out here and think about it, why I was suddenly having this dream again."

"And did you figure it out?" she asks quietly, carefully.

"I think so." I take her hand in mine, holding it to my chest. "Abby, I'm happier than I ever thought was possible. And I guess that…makes me feel guilty. It's like I realize that I wouldn't have this if I had him, and I'm almost ashamed to be happy to have you. Because that means I'm happy to not have him." I start to look down, but she catches my eyes and I look back up at her.

"Carter, please don't feel that way. Of course you're not happy to not have him. I know how much you wanted that baby. What happened was horrible and out of your control. But you can't live the rest of your life feeling guilty about being happy."

"I know, I just…I **don't** know. It's hard to explain." My gaze turns toward the window, as I see the sun making it's first imprint on the sky.

"You don't have to explain, Carter. I know." It takes a few seconds for me to realize the weight of what she's saying, and when I do, I turn to her. Her eyes are filled with fear and anxiety and longing.

"What? Abby, I don't…" Confusion reigns on my face.

"This probably isn't a good time to bring this up. I don't want to make this about me, but I want you to know that if anyone has any reason to feel guilty about moving on with their life, it's me." She breathes deeply, and I'm trying hard not to urge her to go faster. Her eyes look away from me as she continues. She's so quiet that although I am within 6 inches of her, I have to strain to hear. "I was pregnant once, when I was with Richard. Things weren't good for us at that point; he worked all the time, I was in school all the time, and I'm pretty sure there was someone else. When I missed a period I shrugged it off as stress, and then it happened again the next month, and then…I'm regular as clockwork, Carter." She looks at me then, and her eyes are shiny with tears. "I never told him. The only call I made that day was to a clinic, and when it was over, he never knew. If our marriage wasn't done yet, it certainly was after that. I couldn't look him in the eye or talk to him, knowing what I had done." She looks away again, then back at me, but I don't respond; I don't know how. A single tear falls down her cheek, and because I just look blankly at her, she gets off my lap and walks toward the bathroom, wiping it off her face. I realize too late, through my shock, that she now thinks that I don't want her anymore.

I rise out of the chair and follow her path to her bathroom, where I see that at least she has left the door open. As I enter, she is sitting on the toilet with the seat down, toilet paper wadded up in her hand. She looks up at me slowly, more tears on her face.

"I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have told you. I just—"

"No, Abby, please, **I'm** sorry," I plead, kneeling down on the cold linoleum in front of her. I have to give her credit; the old Abby would not be holding eye contact that way she is right now. I reach my hand up to touch her face. "I'm glad you told me. I can't imagine how hard that must have been." As I say this, she begins shaking her head.

"No, don't have sympathy for me. This is nothing like what happened to you; **I** did this." She takes a deep breath, and glances down. "I'm not blaming myself anymore. I'm not beating myself up for it, you know? But after you left, after you got together with Kem, I kept thinking that that was my punishment for what I'd done." She wipes her nose, and I expect her to continue, but once again she falls silent. And in the silence, a realization dawns on me.

"It wasn't just about you and Richard not being good together, was it?" She looks up at me again as I say this. "You were worried…you thought the baby might be bipolar, and you were scared to let that happen, weren't you?" I ask this quietly, hoping that she realizes I'm not accusing her in any way. She nods slowly.

"Yeah. And not just that it would be bipolar, but that he and I couldn't handle it if it happened. It would be just me again, dealing with all that, and I just…I couldn't…oh…" she falls into tears then, and all I can do is hold her, shushing her, as she lets it all out. I find myself wondering if she's ever told anyone this, or if the only people who have ever known about it are the doctors and nurses at the clinic she went to.

After a while she falls quiet, and I pick her up and take her back to bed. As I lay her down, she emits those post-sob hiccups. I lie next to her, under the covers (both of us this time), and stroke her stomach, something my grandmother used to do when I had the hiccups. We stay like that for some time, until her breathing is slowed and I think she has fallen asleep. She surprises me by speaking.

"I wouldn't feel that way about our kids, John." Her voice is almost a whisper as she says this, and I look at her. Her eyes are locked intently on mine.

"What do you mean?" My hand, where it lays on her stomach, begins making small circles. The other is propping up my head.

"I would never be scared that we couldn't handle it. I don't think anything could prevent me from wanting to have children with you." I move my hand up to her face, tenderly moving a hair away from her cheek. She turns to face me. Despite the seriousness of the moment, I can't help but smile.

"Good," is all I can get out. I lean down and kiss her. When our lips part, I find myself staring into her eyes again. "Abby?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you told me about that. I know that is was probably one of the hardest things you've ever had to do, and it just…" I pause momentarily, looking for the right words.

"What?" she asks, expectantly.

"It makes me realize that we really are going to be okay this time. There really won't be any more hiding or secrets or pretending. I guess I wasn't 100 sure of that until now." I pause again, but this time I know the right words. "I love you, Abby. Always have and always will."

"I love you, too, John. Merry Christmas." She leans up and kisses me.

"But, it's not Christmas anymore," I correct her, jokingly, as she pulls away.

"Baby, every day is Christmas when I'm with you." I sense the half-joke in this, and am amused and touched deeply at the same time. I can't even conjure a response, just a shocked and pleased grin.

She's smiling, too, but I can see that her eyes are closing, and I realize that neither one of us has had much sleep tonight, and we both have to work in about 10 hours. So I cuddle up next to her, already falling asleep myself.

Nightmares and baggage behind us, we will continue into our future together.


End file.
